


Five Stages

by Enigma3000



Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dard, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry, Idk what happened, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's pure dard, M/M, OHOHOHO chapter 4, Parental Abuse, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roommates to lovers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Very hard yes, aman finds out anyway, but like, gays being soft, je suis suffering, just a flashback, kartik is harbouring a very important secret, kartik singh needs a hug, nothing explicit though, oxytocin, this was supposed to be a 2k oneshot, went, why do I keep doing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23512090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigma3000/pseuds/Enigma3000
Summary: Q: what do you do when your ticklish boyfriend stubbornly insists that he isn't?A: you annoy him into acceptance[A series of one-shots]
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Comments: 55
Kudos: 164





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this gave me diabetes, full disclosure

The soft evening sunlight streaming through their bedroom window softly illuminated their bare bodies, providing Aman just about enough light to appreciate the figure beneath him. Kartik reached out, wrapped his arms around Aman’s shoulders and dragged him down onto himself. There was no urgency here, no need whatsoever to be rushed. They had all the time in the world. 

All the time in the world for Kartik to kiss him, unhurried and lazy, but achingly passionate nonetheless. 

Aman smiled into the kiss. They rarely ever got moments like these, what with Aman spending every waking moment studying to become a teacher (Kartik was so proud), Kartik using every free second he had working to become a licensed social worker (Aman had no doubt he would be brilliant at it), and their asshole of a boss refusing their request for a raise, forcing them to work overtime just for a little extra. They would have quit a long time ago, but alas. Rent needed to be made.

So moments like these… they were rare to come by. Aman cherished every single one with all his heart.

He kissed Kartik back, just as soft and purposeful, if not more.

Aman opened his eyes- just a little, a tiny fraction- took in the way Kartik’s perfect brows were perfectly relaxed, the way he almost looked sleepy in his gentle contentment, and Aman felt his heart clench for the umpteenth time.

He couldn’t believe this beautiful man was his. 

His, and no one else’s.

A mere four months ago, they were nothing but roommates, passing each other in the hallway with far too many words left unsaid, far too many glances gone unseen. But here they were now, drinking each other in like nothing existed but them, this room, and Kartik’s fingers in Aman’s hair. Funny how quickly things can change.

Aman reluctantly tore himself away, allowed himself a smile at Kartik’s vocal indignation. He proceeded to leave gentle, half second impressions on Kartik’s neck, his shoulders, his collarbones. Touching, loving, worshipping. Silent appreciation for his utterly breathtaking body.

Eventually, though, Aman’s youthful impatience won over his seasoned need for modest touches, and he began trailing his lips downwards. Kartik shuddered at every kiss, every fleeting brush of Aman’s lips against his skin. His breath was coming in shorter and shorter gasps, now. Aman noted this, diverted his attention to Kartik’s stomach, waiting for  _ that _ sound, that sound that Aman always yearned to hear from his boyfriend, every time they-

Kartik squeaked.

Wait. 

_ What? _

“...Kartik?”

The man in question refused to move, just hummed nonchalantly with his eyes screwed shut, and Aman could have sworn he was making a discernible effort to keep his voice steady. His hands, clutching at the sheets, tightened their grip almost imperceptibly. He tensed up, like he often did under Aman’s touch. Except this time Aman’s fingers, or his lips, weren’t anywhere near him.

Aman was sitting up and staring at Kartik in confusion. And a little concern, but mostly confusion.

“Did you just…  _ squeak _ ?”

Kartik’s eyes flew open, and widened to the size of the moon.

_ Busted. _

“I did not.” He replied, with the kind of firmness that honestly wasn’t warranted here, Aman thought. Kartik’s tongue flicked out momentarily, licked his lower lip and then darted back in. The same way it did whenever he told a little white lie. It was a tell that Kartik mostly kept hidden away, save for his most vulnerable moments. 

Aman raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

Kartik rolled his eyes.

“I think I would know if I squeaked, Aman.” there was a sort of finality to his voice that kept Aman from probing further. As much as he wanted to do just that.

He shrugged and accepted the answer, odd as it was. His attention was turned back to Kartik’s lower stomach...

...and he heard it again. 

Aman’s head shot up in confusion and mild amusement. Experience had taught him that people made odd sounds during sex, sure. But squeaking?

He paused for a moment, to consider the possible explanations. It couldn’t have been pain, Aman had been reliably informed that he weighed about as much as a feather. It couldn’t have been discomfort, what with Kartik demanding to know why he stopped, demanding that Aman get on with it. So... why would he-

_ Oh.  _

Oh, _ adorable. _

“Kartik,” Aman couldn’t help the grin that overtook his face

“Are you… ticklish?”

His boyfriend pushed himself up at the speed of fucking sound, and fixed him with a glare so offended, so frightening, that Aman almost considered apologising. Almost.

“NO I’M NOT,” Kartik said, a little too loud. His fervent denial had the exact opposit effect as he had desired. It only confirmed Aman’s growing suspicions.

Of all the things Aman had learned about Kartik, this was by far the most delightful.

“You ARE-” 

_ “I AM NOT.” _

Aman took far too much pleasure in the way Kartik frowned, mouth slightly parted like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. It reminded Aman of this one time, as a child, when he was accused of putting a cricket ball through the neighbour's window. His rage at the mere suggestion that he would do something like that, and then lie about it, was almost unparalleled.

_ (It was exactly what he had done, but he liked to think his reputation as the ideal child made him untouchable.) _

Aman couldn’t hold back his glee. As why should he? There were few things in life, according to Aman, that warranted complete and utter disbelief. But finding out that your strong, "lohar ka beta" boyfriend had one of the cutest quirks humanity had evolved was _definitely_ one of them

“MY BOYFRIEND… IS _ TICKLISH.” _ Aman’s eyes sparkled, in a way Kartik both hated and loved in equal measure.

"STOP-"

_ “ _ Oh my god, oh my god that’s so cute, how didn’t I realise sooner? Saale, how long were you planning to hide this from me, huh? Oh wow, this is the best news, you’re _ ticklish,  _ I can’t believe-”

"Aman."

_"TICKLISH,_ I can't- I'm-" he put his hands on his mouth in an utterly extravagant fashion, and Kartik wanted to punch him, "WOW-"

"Aman."

"I CAN'T BELIEVE-"

“Say that again and I’ll walk away.”

“YOU’RE TICK- okay, no no no, please don’t.” Aman laughed, coming up to kiss that endearing frown away. Kartik wrapped his arm around Aman’s waist, captured Aman’s lips with his own almost insistently, and Aman had no choice but to carefully file away Kartik’s supposed ticklish nature in his head. For later use.

Further inquiry could wait. He could let Kartik live under his delusion for now.

Aman had other things on his mind.


	2. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delhi traffic, an annoyance, and a half drawn heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've provided translations at the end, should anyone need them!

Kartik sighed resignedly, tapped the handles of the bike, and impatiently looked down at his watch once more. Like looking at it repeatedly would make time go any faster. 

It was a vintage piece, a gift from his father (A blatant lie. He had stolen it from the jerk the day he left home). Kartik turned his wrist and peered at the slightly cracked dial, squinting through the sunlight reflected off the decades-old glass. He was, however, met with a sharp stab of disappointment when he saw that the minute hand had moved a staggering  _ one minute _ over the past... two hours. Or so it seemed, at least.

He wasn’t one to whimper often. But he supposed he was allowed here.

Kartik wasn’t really struggling, so to speak. He had taken his hoodie off and tied it at his waist ages ago, fearing a heat stroke (Aman was useless in crisis situations). He simply tuned out the occasional honk from a father dropping his kids off at worthless weekend classes, from a family running late for their neighbour’s best friend’s brother’s teacher’s wedding, from a politician’s nineteen year old son who thought he owned the streets. These sounds were easy to tune out. 

Others, not so much.

Aman was making sure of that.

The omnipresent Delhi smog surrounded them, thick and heavy enough to choke a horse. 

_ (Okay, perhaps that was an exaggeration. Maybe an asthmatic horse.) _

Kartik, who was neither asthmatic, nor a horse, was feeling suffocated for other reasons entirely. 

_ “Kartik.” _ Aman groaned, punctuating the word with an insistent poke into Kartik’s shoulder. He had been trying to get the man’s attention for the better part of a few minutes now, only to be ignored each time. 

“Kartik. listen.”

Kartik pretended not to hear him, suddenly gaining a sort of peculiar interest in the tiny pride keychain tied to the bike keys. He gazed pointedly at the little rainbow heart, fiddled with it, let his fingers run over the  _ “Love is love” _ written over it in glittery text, thumbed the-

_ “Kartik.” _

-vibrant stripes gently, as he often did when he was-

“Kartik.”

-trying to get his mind off things around him, such as-

_ “Kar-tik.” _

-Aman calling his name in an infuriatingly sing-song voice.

He closed his eyes, and counted to ten.

Aman could whine his name as much as he wanted to, however long he wanted to. Kartik absolutely refused to grace his boyfriend with a response. Every man had a limit and he had passed his about six minutes ago.

“Kartik, SUN NA,”* Aman yelled, right in his ear this time

Kartik nearly fell off the bike.

Aman stifled a laugh.

The offended man turned around, let his murderous glare bore right through the helmet into his boyfriend’s eyes. 

Aman looked very pleased with himself. 

_ Bastard. _

“Kya hai?”* Kartik asked (more like snapped), evidently annoyed. And Aman’s smug smile only got aggressively wider.

“I’m bored.”

Kartik turned around slowly, eyeing the love of his life with primal rage. It should have scared Aman, and it would have, but he was in much too devilish a mood to do anything but pucker his lips and make kissy faces back at Kartik.

Damn him. Damn him and his ceaseless ability to turn Kartik soft.

“Oh, okay,” Kartik’s voice dropped a few decibels, and rose a few hertz, “thanks for letting me know! Didn’t quite catch you the first, uh...” 

he pretended to count on his fingers.

“ _ Two hundred _ goddamn times you said it.” 

Kartik enunciated the “two hundred,” gleefully and willingly ignoring the fact that Aman had barely said it twice. Two times too many, perhaps, but twice it was.

Dramatic, as ever.

Not that it stopped Aman, of course.

“Kartik-”

_ “I WILL LEAVE YOU HERE.” _

Kartik, surprisingly, had proven himself time and time again to be the less restless of the two. Anything, anything that required long periods of waiting seemed to drive Aman right up the wall. Waiting in line, having to sit through his father’s rant (no- rants, plural) about rising vegetable prices, waiting for their turn at the dentist- just any painfully tedious scenario where he was forced to sit in one place against his will… It made him about as frustrated as painstakingly solving a 1000 piece puzzle, and then finding out there’s a few pieces missing. 

So, you know. Torture.

Kartik would simply check out, mentally speaking. Time would pass him by while he indulged himself in a break from reality. All he needed was his phone, or something to absently stare at for a worryingly large amount of time without being considered a creep. His vivid imagination, and his tendency to daydream, often did the rest for him.

In this case, he had opted to fix his gaze on the number plate of the car in front of them. He had been staring long enough to perfectly memorise the number plate by now. Not that he had, of course. At least he  _ had _ been staring, until Aman had very rudely interrupted him.

Aman, on the other hand, wasn’t faring quite as well. The morning sun  _ (why the fuck was there a traffic jam this early in the day? _ ) beat down on him, his legs were itching to get off the goddamn bike and walk around (he tried once, and Kartik had yelled at him), and his mind was going absolutely numb with sheer,  _ agonising _ boredom.

He might just drop dead.

“Talk to me.” Aman demanded, ending the last word in just enough of a whine to make Kartik seriously consider pushing him off the bike.

Kartik regarded him silently, much like one would a dog that was left alone with a mud puddle, and exhaled sharply. Aman smiled, inappropriately proud of himself, and Kartik let hope overtake his long suffering heart once more. Aman watched the hard set of his brows slacken a litte, watched him turn around and try to get a good look at the traffic light.

Kartik craned his neck over the swarm of people covering every goddamn square inch of the road, mumbled to himself about how humanity needed a new plague, and locked eyes with the worst sight life could offer any poor soul.

The light was still red.

Kartik almost teared up.

“Fine,” he said, with the enthusiasm of a wet mop. 

“What do you want to talk about?”

“How bored I am.” 

Kartik could hear the smirk in his voice.

He closed his eyes yet again.

_ Aman is my boyfriend. I love him. Aman is my boyfriend. I love him. Aman is my boyfriend. I love him. Pushing him off the bike would be mean. I love him. Aman is the love of my life. Hurting him would be wrong... _

_ “Kar-tik.” _

_...but would it, really? _

“Why can’t you just listen to music or something?” Kartik asked (begged).

Aman clicked his tongue, like he usually did when Kartik forgot to buy bread. Kartik never actually forgot, he just thought wholewheat bread was in the top ten of humanity’s worst inventions. Possibly top three.

“My phone died ten minutes ago.”

Oh. That explained a lot.

“Then take my phone, na?” Kartik pulled it out of his pocket and held it out, expecting Aman to snatch it. 

Aman did not.

Perhaps pessimists had a point.

Kartik felt Aman push his hand away, felt Aman’s glare on the back of his neck rather than actually see it.

“We both know you have, like, five songs downloaded.”

That was a lie.

(He had three.)

“Then listen to those, na?”

Kartik said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if having barely any songs downloaded offline on your phone, a phone that ran on JIO data, was normal human behaviour. 

(As if having a phone that ran on jio data was normal human behaviour)

It was Aman’s turn to close his eyes now, Aman’s turn to inhale deeply and count to ten before he did something he regretted. Like push Kartik off the bike, maybe. They still needed to get to work, and Aman was not in a mood to ride all the way there alone.

Also, Kartik was his boyfriend, etc. 

The traffic wasn’t doing his temper any favours, but Aman was nothing if not a paragon of peace.

“Abbey  _ KITNI BAAR MITTI DI KHUSHBOO SUNAEGA?” _

Most of the time.

Kartik’s mouth flew open. 

_ How dare he? _

“IT’S A GOOD SONG.”

_ “IRRELEVANT.” _

Kartik huffed, more annoyed than ever. 

“You’re irrelevant.”

It wasn’t the best of retorts, but it was all Kartik’s exhausted brain was able to come up with at the moment. And the sheer stupidity of what he had said seemed to have momentarily shut Aman up, so. Mission accomplished.

Until he heard his own name again, and nearly swallowed his keys, keychain and all.

Why Aman couldn’t simply listen to the exact same song on repeat for days on end, forget minutes, he would never understand. But, that was immaterial at the moment. Aman was bored, and Kartik could either find a way to alleviate that, or he could walk to the front of the traffic jam, sit himself down right in the middle and wait for the light to turn green.

The first had proven itself to be impossible thus far. 

The second involved more waiting. 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to choose, because Aman decided at that exact moment to rest his forehead on Kartik’s back, earning a relieved sigh from the man in front of him. Aman smiled. Ruffling Kartik’s feathers always proved to be oddly enjoyable, but they had reached the point where the man deserved a break. 

He inhaled deeply, breathed Kartik’s cologne in, and shut the world around him out for a bit. Boredom and penchant for being an inconvenience aside, Aman actually was grateful for how Kartik seemed to put up with his every whim, his every tantrum. He had had boyfriends before, of course he had, but he hadn’t ever had love like this. Both his exes had told him to shut up, told him that he was hard to be around sometimes. But not Kartik, heavens no. 

He listened to Kartik's steady breathing, allowing it to lull him into comfort amidst the chaos. As it always did.

As Kartik always did, honestly.

Aman closed his eyes, took a moment to enjoy the peace that existed between them, in their little bubble. Separate from all the commotion around them. The world seemed so far away, so cut off, during tender moments like these. He smiled, lifted a hand up to draw a heart on Kartik’s back with his finger. As he tended to do quite often.

Aman was halfway through one of the curves, when the peace dissipated almost immediately.

Kartik squeaked (a sound Aman recognised from somewhere, but  _ where? _ ), squirmed like a fish caught in a net and nearly fell off the bike. 

Again.

Aman sat up in surprise.

“Ab kya hua-”

“WHY DID YOU DO THAT?” 

Kartik regained his balance, took a moment to assure himself that he was still alive and turned his head abruptly to face Aman. The look in his eyes sent a shiver down Aman’s spine. For more reasons than one, but he didn’t want to dwell on that for too long. Not here, anyway. 

His tone was accusatory, needlessly so, and it made Aman frown.

“Arre? All I did was draw a heart on...”

The bulb in his head flickered on, and Aman’s voice trailed off.

Of  _ COURSE- _

Oh, there it was  _ again. _ Evidence of his boyfriend’s adorable trait that he refused to accept he had. Aman had forgotten about it entirely after that evening, so many weeks ago. In his defence, Kartik had proceeded to render his every thought completely incoherent for over an hour that day, after that fateful moment of enlightenment, Aman couldn’t be blamed.

It all came flooding back, and Kartik swallowed as he saw the dam break behind Aman’s eyes.

Oh no. not again, please not again, no-

Aman’s eyes widened, glinted evilly in the morning light, and the corners creased in an impossibly wide smile. The same kind that flitted across his face when he was overwhelmed with joy. The same kind Kartik had fallen irrevocably in love with, all those months ago.

It pissed him off.

Aman was just about to open his mouth and say something, when Kartik cut him off before he could. He knew Aman better than he did himself, and sometimes that came in handy.

“Not. a damn. word,” Kartik warned, reminding Aman of a rather angry kitten.

Aman smirked Perhaps, just this once, he would let Kartik have this. He had annoyed the poor man enough for one morning (just for the morning, though), doing it too often would take the fun out of it.

Aman shrugged.

Kartik eyed him up and down, still wary. Experience had taught him that man wasn’t one to let things go easily. Or ever, for that matter.

Aman raised an eyebrow, laughed lightly and gently pushed Kartik’s face away from himself. He knew exactly what Kartik was thinking, and he understood. He really did. Aman held on to things to tease Kartik about like moss to a rock. Kartik was yet to hang out in their balcony without Aman warning him about falling over.

(he had been hanging clothes to dry, he thought he heard the ice cream guy’s bell on the street below, a pigeon had surprised him- it was a whole  _ thing,  _ okay? _ ) _

But he honestly  _ was _ willing to let it go this time.

Aman leaned in, left a chaste kiss on Kartik’s shoulder, and rested his chin on it.

And suddenly saw his chance.

He could let this go later.

“Still gonna deny that you’re ticklish?” Aman whispered into Kartik's ear.

Kartik grit his teeth, and Aman could almost hear it.

He smirked. 

“Shut up.” Kartik said, with an air of irritation he didn’t quite possess. He knew how ridiculous he was being. All those secrets he had whispered into Aman’s neck in the dead of the night, all those things Aman knew about him that nobody else did. The story behind every mark, every scar that graced his body, the reason he wore hoodies as a habit (thanks, Kartik’s dad). Everything that defined Kartik as a person, Aman knew.

And yet, Kartik drew the line at letting Aman know he’s ticklish.

Absurdity, is all this was.

Aman laughed into his neck, infectious as ever, and Kartik couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.

The light turned green.

_\------_

_*KARTIK, LISTEN_

_**what is it?_

_***HOW MANY TIMES ARE YOU GONNA MAKE ME LISTEN TO THIS SONG?_


	3. Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A damaged couch, a princess, and his knight in shining armour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Haar gaye? - did we lose?
> 
> Theekh hai- okay
> 
> Kya hua?- what happened
> 
> koi kharidne wala mil hi nahi raha- i haven’t found anyone willing to buy it
> 
> Na matlab na- no means no
> 
> tabiat theekh hai teri?- are you feeling fine?
> 
> BHAAD ME JA, SAALE- i love you most ardently

The late evening wind blew softly against Aman's eyes, and Aman found it reason enough to bury his face deeper into Kartik's warm neck. The last slice of pizza sitting tragically neglected on the armrest next to him toppled over, plate and all, but Aman was honestly too comfortable where he was to make an effort to clean that up.

There were few things on this planet that commanded Aman Tripathi's attention over food, but the man obsessively refreshing ESPN-CRICINFO on his phone, whilst tracing small circles on Aman's back, was definitely one of them.

"Crap," Kartik winced, when one particular refresh yielded the disappointing result of a taken wicket. That was 4 down. KXIP had a total of 190 runs to chase down. Which meant a hundred and ten more to go.

_Crap, indeed._

Aman couldn't begin to understand the game (and, he had tried, truly), so he didn't bother sharing Kartik's frustration. A pouty Kartik was, however, a very pretty sight to witness. So Aman lifted his head off his favourite pillow, caught the very glimpse he had been vying to see, and felt a wave of affection crash through his veins.

Aman leaned up just a little, and left a lingering kiss on Kartik's cheek.

Kartik smiled, and even under the darkness of the night sky Aman could just tell the dimple he'd fallen in love with had decided to make an appearance again.

"Haar gaye?" Aman asked, not quite caring about the answer.

"Mm, no, but if we keep playing like this, might as well."

_We?_

_Wasn't today's match Punjab Vs Mumbai?_

"Who's playing?"

Kartik's eyes turned slowly to him, and Aman watched in confusion as Kartik raised a doubtful eyebrow.

"Do you really care?"

_(Aman didn't)_

"What, just because I'm gay, I can't care about sports?"

Kartik put his phone down, exhaled slowly, and rolled his eyes. Times like these he wondered if his penchant for drama was just as exasperating to deal with. If not more, that was. Kartik was decidedly the more dramatic one of the two. Aman was happy to let him have the title.

"Why are you so annoying?"

Aman chuckled, and brushed a rogue hair away from Kartik's forehead. Hair that was usually kept almost unnaturally groomed. The wind seemed to have gotten the better of Kartik today.

"Mm… you love me anyway." Aman snuggled further into his boyfriend's side.

Kartik sighed.

"That I do."

"Okay, then, bata na, who's playing?" 

The question was partly muffled by Kartik's collarbone, and Kartik enjoyed the way it sent vibrations through his chest. Aman's voice was about twice as deep when he was sleepy, and about four times as sexy.

"Punjab-Mumbai. Although what Punjab is doing probably can't even be considered playing, I won't be surprised if this match is a set up, I mean what competent captain decides to open with-"

Aman blocked the rest of that sentence out automatically, choosing to let his mind linger instead on the way Kartik had subconsciously integrated Aman into his "We."

It was a small thing, something anyone else wouldn't even have caught, but in a world which seemed obsessed with deciding what was worth being happy over and what wasn't, Aman was the kind of person to derive joy from even the most insignificant things in life. Especially when it came to Kartik.

His non-commital "we" had made Aman think, for a moment there, that it was Delhi against someone else. Because that made sense. Delhi was a part of Aman as much as it was a part of Kartik, and saying "we" in reference to their city's team was simply logical.

The realisation that Kartik had unknowingly conflated Aman, who had maybe visited Punjab once in his whole life, with that side of his identity and culture was… sweet.

Incredibly so.

Kartik had left punjab, yes, but punjab had never really left him. The noisy streets, the sheer beauty of a closely-knit neighborhood, the loud and colourful and joyous celebrations of every festival even vaguely worth celebrating- not to mention the swears he'd picked up along the way- they had all claimed a permanent place in Kartik's heart. While he didn't miss his childhood "home" (if it could even be considered that) one bit, he couldn't deny there were parts of his homeland that he did.

Punjab was woven into his soul.

And as was Aman.

It seemed, somewhere along the way, the two strings had gotten all tangled up. Not that Aman minded, of course. He cherished it, on the contrary.

Aman wasn't like Kartik. Aman didn't have entire states woven into him. The disconnect had begun at the tender age of 14, when the realisation that he was, well, different, had dawned upon his childish heart. And had effectively put a heavy strain on the strings that bound him to his own homeland.

The follow-up realisation that he would be treated differently if he let anyone in on his secret effectively severed them.

When you grow up as an outsider in your own house, it's hard to accept, even as an independent adult far from that suffocating atmosphere of bigotry, that it ever was (or could be) a home.

He had moved to Delhi partly for that very reason.

And, yes, it was but the truth that he had spent years in Delhi, but it still didn't quite feel like... _home,_ either. He missed Allahabad, missed the friends he had made there. His heart yearned to ride down familiar streets on his father's old motorcycle, not bothering to stop until he reached his favourite chat stall about a kilometre from his house. He could still feel the way those samosas crunched under his teeth.

Delhi didn't quite have his heart, yet. 

But Kartik did.

So anything he called a home, Aman didn't mind calling it the same.

He rested his head back on Kartik's shoulder, shifting a little this time to drape more of himself over Kartik's side. His face found the crook of Kartik's neck, his arms found Kartik's waist, and his mind found itself wandering back to his first few months with this angel of a man. As roommates, even friends, but nothing more. 

Kartik had found him, lost and a little terrified in the vast expanse of the city. He hadn't even been looking for Aman, really, nor Aman for him- Kartik merely needed Someone to share the rent with, and Aman a cheap place to live. But as it so often happens with love, they had ended up finding it within each other without realising it.

Aman had been grateful for a friend, in a new city with new people. Especially a friend he could hang up his carefully constructed façade around. Aman had never really been introverted, he had several friends during his childhood, but scarcely a few he trusted enough to let them look past his shell and into the far more sensitive, far more gay soul beneath.

They quickly became best friends, after that, what with Aman hanging out with Kartik and all of his friends like they were his own. He fit in here. He had finally found a place he fit in perfectly, like a puzzle piece in the vast jigsaw puzzle of this buzzing city. And it had all been thanks to Kartik. He enjoyed spending time with the man. Every second together was pure joy, and the few times Aman visited his family back home, he felt a strange sort of yearning clawing at his heart. A very confusing, very intense desire to be back at his own apartment in Delhi. To be back with Kartik.

He'd brushed it off, thinking it was his outsider complex acting up again, reactivated by the presence of his family. 

It was on one such visit, much to his horror, that Aman realised he had developed feelings for Kartik. 

(Back in Delhi, a very sulky, very depressed Kartik was having the same realisation about him)

Not that this realisation had changed things, of course. They'd played around each other, tiptoed around their feelings to the extent that neither had any clue the other felt the same way. Little glimpses, little touches that lingered too long, all brushed off by both as a figment of their own imaginations.

And then, finally, after literal months of unresolved tension, had come the defining kiss.

Aman smiled to himself over how their current positions were beautifully reminiscent of their first kiss. A slightly more clean shaven Aman had been curled up in the back seat, just this way, against his then-roommate. Just as sleepy, just as utterly lost in everything the simple action of resting his head on Kartik's shoulder made him feel. 

Their first kiss, in the back of that dingy ola, had been absolutely nothing short of simply magical.

* * *

It was 1:30 in the night. 

They'd just finished watching a late night showing of Bajirao Mastani, a movie Kartik had dragged Aman to for no other reason than to have his furious crush on the actor in the lead role validated by his best friend.

_("Why?" Aman had asked, frowning at the tickets Kartik had booked them without permission. With his own money, granted, but still._

_"Uh, because ranveer singh?" Kartik had replied simply, like that was answer enough. It really wasn't._

_But the excitement etched into Kartik's face had made Aman's conscience rebel furiously against disappointing him._

_"Chalo, theekh hai. I'm free, anyway."_

_"Brilliant! It's a date!" Kartik winked, turning back to his laptop to rewatch the trailer for the 100th time. That day._

_The blush that had crept to Aman's cheeks had gone tragically unseen.)_

The movie wasn't bad, really, even if it was not entirely suited to Aman's tastes. But he'd still found himself drifting away towards the end, and had fought to keep his eyes open for Kartik's sake. Here, in the backseat of an Ola, there was no such fight necessary. He simply laid his head down on Kartik's shoulder (ignored the way that made his heartbeat speed up), and let his eyes slide shut. 

He barely registered the driver step out of the car, asking if he could withdraw a little cash from the ATM nearby. All he felt was Kartik's sleepy nod of permission, and that had been that.

What came a few seconds after, however, had blown every bit of sleep Aman had in his head right out of him. 

Kartik's lips, pressed into his forehead in a tender, childishly hesitant kiss.

Aman's eyes snapped open.

Did Kartik really- did that just-

Was he dreaming?

No, no he couldn’t be dreaming, this couldn’t be a dream- if it was, they would be on a beach, somewhere. Both the times Aman had had this exact dream, the setting had been a beach. At sunset. With the evening rays beautifully illuminating Kartik's handsome features.

If this wasn't a dream, then...

“Kartik,” Aman mumbled, placing a palm on Kartik’s chest, and slowly raising his head to look Kartik right in the eye.

He was beautiful. 

Heart stopping, breath taking levels of beautiful, even through Aman’s sleepy gaze. And Aman found his own heart racing at the very thought of what he was about to do, wonderfully emulating the sped-up drumming in Kartik’s chest which he felt under his own fingers.

Kartik Singh was beautiful, and from the look on his face, terrified out of his goddamn mind.

“Oh, fuck," he swallowed nervously, immediately averting his eyes from Aman's pleasantly surprised gaze.

"Crap, I didn’t know you’re awake, sorry, i- I’m sorry-“

His eyes shifted every which way, as if looking for some sort of escape route from the questionable predicament he'd found himself in. His mouth rambled on against his explicit will, his hands flew wildly around with each word, as if he didn't quite know what to do with them, and if the lights in the car were on, Aman would have been able to make out the furious blush that had risen to Kartik's face.

Aman smiled.

“Kartik," he tried again.

The rambling did not stop.

“It wasn’t even a kiss, honestly, I was trying to look out the window and your head came in the way, and-“

“Kartik.”

“Yeah, of course you wouldn’t believe a story that dumb- sorry, yaar, maaf kardo, I don’t know what came over me, It won’t happen again-“

"Kartik, listen-"

"It was way out of bounds, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I won't let it happen again-" he was repeating himself, at this point, but he didn't know what else to do.

Aman had shut him up rather effectively, then, with nothing but his hand placed firmly on the back of Kartik’s neck, his fingers in Kartik’s hair, and his lips on Kartik’s own.

He felt his friend (friend?), tense momentarily under him, before visibly relaxing in almost numbing relief.

Kartik’s eyes fluttered close, and Aman felt a trembling exhale against his cheek, as an unsure palm came up to cup the side of his face.

His face, which seemed to be positively alight with an intense flame. Kartik shivered minutely under Aman’s touch, and all that did was cause tiny explosions under every goddamn square inch of Aman’s skin. Oxytocin, he reminded himself. The wonder chemical released in your body when you’re-

_Oh._

When you’re in _love._

Aman sighed harshly at the realisation, packed it away in a box and pushed it firmly to the back of his head. That could wait as long as he needed it to, He wasn’t even sure if Kartik’s feelings mirrored his own in their intensity. That didn’t matter, anyway. All that mattered was that they were indeed mirrored, as evidenced by the way Kartik parted his lips minutely, as if wordlessly asking for more. 

More of Aman’s lips, more of Aman’s touch, more of his love- just… more, after being denied even a shred for far too long.

Aman tilted his head playfully, let his tongue dance along Kartik's parted lips with the intention of giving him exactly what he so desperately desired, when a second, much less pleasant realisation struck him.

Their driver could be walking back any second now.

And so Aman pulled away, felt his heart skip a beat at the small, indignant sound Kartik let out despite himself, and sat back with his head resting against his seat.

His heart thrummed away in his chest like it finally found a piece of itself it didn’t even know it was missing.

Aman had sat back and stared out the window, only pretending to ignore the way the gorgeous man seated next to him was staring at Aman in utter shock and disbelief.

He shifted to his side, away from Kartik (much to Kartik's disappointment), and rested his head against the window. Aman closed his eyes, but sleep evaded him. As it often did, when one finally experienced something they’d been relentlessly dreaming of every waking moment for about six months now.

There was a conversation to be had here. Aman knew as much. Perhaps one that involved fewer words and more fingers in hair.

But for now, Aman placed his hand on the seat next to him, and let himself enjoy the way Kartik blinked twice, before gently resting his palm on Aman's hand.

Human speech seemed to have failed him quite nicely, so Kartik had no choice but to hope this would be enough for now.

It was.

* * *

Just as he finished replaying the memory in his head for the millionth time, Aman felt a kiss being pressed into his forehead. Light, tender, but profoundly meaningful all the same.

History was intent upon repeating itself, it seemed.

Aman shifted, his movements sluggish with exhaustion, to divert Kartik's lips from his forehead to parts of his face he'd rather feel them on. Kartik watched with hooded eyes, just began closing them in anticipation of what was no doubt to come, and snapped them open suddenly when he felt Aman wince.

"Fuck." Aman exclaimed quietly, rubbing his palm over the spot on his side where his rib cage met his waist.

“Kya hua?” Kartik asked, or rather tried to, before his words were cut off midway by an insistent yawn.

Aman grimaced.

“arey, this damn couch and its personal mission to stab me to death,” Aman grumbled, staring intensely at the offensive, sharp little thing that had nearly ripped through the soft material of Kartik’s shirt. The shirt Aman had stolen for the day, far too lazy to go rooting around in his own wardrobe for something clean to wear. Plus, he always seemed to feel better in oversized shirts.

Or, no, that wasn’t it. Not just any oversized shirts. Kartik’s shirts specifically.

The one he had stolen for the day had come right off their clothesline, even before Kartik could notice it was missing.

Kartik didn’t even bother complaining anymore. Aman wore them better anyway.

“When will you sell this damn thing?” Aman asked, for the hundredth time over the past month.

A valid question. 

Kartik had promised to sell it weeks ago, just as they had placed their order for a new one. A more sophisticated, modern looking thing with far more zeroes attached to its price and far fewer springs jutting out of the cushions. A level up, from a couch to a sofa. After spending much too long on the ratty old thing that seemed to hate being sat on, absolutely loathed the very idea of being slept on, and went into a homicidal rage if you tried… anything else.

(Aman had shoved Kartik onto it, recently, and nearly ripped his face open in the process)

But the sofa had long since occupied its rightful place in their living room, and the couch had gone woefully unsold. It had simply been moved to a secondary location- their balcony, where it sat and collected dust all day, until about an hour ago when they had run a vacuum over it for romantic moonlit dinner purposes.

Or as romantic a dinner as you can have, anyway, when you’ve ordered in from pizza hut.

“I’m trying my best to sell it, I swear, par koi kharidne wala mil hi nahi raha.”

The second part of that sentence was true.

The first, far from it.

And it could all be chalked up to Kartik’s lovable, infuriating need to preserve all items of nostalgia. No matter how much space they took up in his home.

And the worn, damaged couch they had spent the better part of the last two hour cuddling on, was the very same couch they were seated upon when Aman had hesitantly come out to Kartik for the first time

* * *

“Okay, here’s the thing-“ Kartik said, speaking faster than normal, and Aman couldn’t help but notice the way his hands, which moved so freely and so expressively in sharp contrast to Aman’s own, were suddenly wrapped tight in front of Kartik’s chest.

“It’s- I, uh-“

Kartik let out a slow breath, and Aman felt as though he was stalling what he was about to say for as long as possible.

Which was exactly what he was doing.

Of all the people who had come to check out his apartment, Kartik liked this one the most. He really did. 

Aman was the perfect roommate- polite, laughed at all of Kartik’s jokes (perhaps a little too hard? Or maybe that was just his imagination-) accepted his share of the rent to be paid without bargaining over the price, was much too small to steal any of Kartik’s clothes- the list went on.

He seemed perfectly okay with Kartik's terms too, so, in an ideal world, the one thing left to do was to shake hands over their new joint arrangement, and call it a day. But it wasn't an ideal world, and Kartik did have one last thing to state.

One little fact that had turned out to be a dealbreaker thrice, now. And while Kartik couldn’t possibly have cared less what those three assholes thought of him and his proclivity for male companionship, he honestly was hoping this one would turn out to be different. There was something about him… something about this mysterious, rather small stranger... that had struck a cord deep within Kartik. And it wasn’t only the fact that he was, for the lack of a better word, rather sexy.

Kartik opened his mouth, tried to think of a gentler way to put what he was about to say, until he found himself not caring.

_Ah, fuck it._

“I’m gay.”

Aman’s eyes widened to a size about twice of the moon, and Kartik felt the familiar pang of disappointment pull at his insides.

This one wasn’t so different, after all.

“This honestly should be obvious, but I’m-“ Kartik chuckled, as if the very fact that he had to say this out loud was ridiculous- “I’m not going to hit on you, or be creepy, or anything of the sort, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll keep my hands and eyes to myself, except if I ever need to fight you,” Kartik laughed weakly at his own attempted joke.

Aman, who had for some inexplicable reason laughed at “And there’s the bedroom, or it will be once you put your bed in it” didn’t seem to find this funny enough to grace with a verbal response.

He merely nodded meekly, still staring rather eerily at Kartik without even realising it, and Kartik could’ve sworn there was a hurricane katrina sized storm behind those undeniably pretty eyes.

A “storm” didn’t even begin to cover it.

Kartik raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and Aman scarcely registered it over the clanging in his head where two wildly opposing sides were at war.

On one hand, was the sheer… profoundness of saying those three little words out loud. Of officially coming out to someone.

Aman had come out to people before, of course he had. Nobody could keep that huge a part of their identity hidden for over a decade.

The first ever person had been Goggle, after she caught him doing something rather embarrassing for a fifteen year old boy to be doing alone in his bedroom after forgetting to lock the door.

Kissing a teddy bear with some dude's face stapled over it.

Goggle recognised him as some guy she'd seen on TV, but did not bother letting her thoughts linger on who it was, exactly. There had been more important, much funnier things to inquire about in that moment. And, boy, had she inquired. Inquired about every possible related thing until Aman had gotten annoyed and slammed the door in her face. Only after she was gone did he allow himself a smile, relieved beyond words that she had taken it so well.

And there had been a few others, over the years. a best friend who began vehemently avoiding him just after, a very disappointed admirer, friends that had supported him through and through. And, of course, his exes.

But he had left all that behind. He had left all that behind and come to Delhi, for the very specific reason of building his identity and personhood afresh, and the first step to that would be to say the words out loud to someone. So this was a rather significant moment in Aman tripathi’s rebirth. He wasn’t sure he wanted to waste it on a veritable stranger. A very attractive, very gay stranger, no doubt. But a stranger nonetheless.

On the other hand, Aman was positively dying to say those three words he hadn’t uttered freely in all 26 years of life.

And besides, everyone was a stranger here. Everyone was an unknown. Aman was yet to start his teaching course, and he was yet to find a part time job to fund his stay in Delhi, so that also meant was yet to meet the vibrant new people this city was to bring into his life.

So, as far as Aman was concerned, Kartik was less of a stranger than the rest of Delhi’s entire population. Might as well begin this journey with him.

“No no,” Aman had laughed, exhilaration dripping from every lilt of his tone. “That won’t be a pro- yeah, no, it’s fine.”

The palpable relief on Kartik’s face, followed by that [adorable] tiny smile, widened Aman’s already bowling-ball-sized pupils all the more.

“I’m gay too.”

* * *

A tender, yet insistent little kiss pressed into the curve just underneath his relaxed jaw snapped Kartik out of his memories. This time, as it so rarely happened, he honestly did not mind. This was one of the few times reality was better than his daydream.

“Kartik?” Aman mumbled, voice laden heavily with sleep.

He felt his heart clench.

If there was one thing more adorable in the world than the man draped over him, Kartik was yet to find it. It dawned on him, yet again, how willing he was to do anything, anything to keep that ethereal smile going on his boyfriend’s face.

“Hm?” Kartik hummed, too tired to bother forming words.

He felt another kiss. In the same place.

“Carry me to the bedroom?”

Well, almost anything.

Just as Aman finished his request, the peace was shattered as Kartik harshly shoved Aman off him, like a man in a blind panic.

_Rude._

His hands found Aman's shoulders, and he was shaking them like Aman's heart would stop if he didn't.

“Kya hua?" Shake, "Are you ok?" Shake, "tabiat theekh hai teri?”

Aman blinked.

_Where the hell had this come from?_

“Yeah… why-?”

“Did you break your legs? Oh shit, you’re paralysed from the waist down, aren’t you? Crap, we need to get you to the emergency room- I’ll go call an ambulance right now-?"

_What the-_

“What the hell are you going on about? I’m fine!”

The panic evaporated from his face almost immediately, and only then did Aman realise it had been faux panic all along. Courtesy of Kartik’s more dramatic side.

Aman frowned, and Kartik had no choice but to admit to himself that he looked adorable when he did so.

“Then walk yourself to the bedroom, your highness.” 

He enunciated the last two words, earning an annoyed grumble from the man who quickly buried his face in Kartik's shoulder again.

“Kartik… please.”

“No”

“Please?”

“Na.”

Aman grumbled again. This man could be so difficult sometimes.

“I’ll make dinner for the next week.”

Kartik snorted. 

_Nice try, meri jaan._

“When did you learn to cook?"

Aman pouted. Of course he could cook. Just not very well.

“I’ll let you pick what to watch for the next week.”

“I’m just as obsessed with Money Heist as you, and you know it.”

“Just carry me till the bedroom door?”

“Na matlab na”

“PLEASE. I’ll switch my contacts out with glasses for a month.”

Kartik blushed. He had a thing for Aman in glasses and the clever son of a bitch who currently had his legs wrapped around Kartik's waist was trying to use that to his full advantage.

And he came dangerously close to winning, but Kartik singh was nothing if not bullishly determined. Nearly to a fault, at times.

“No. stop trying to bargain.”

“Please, Kartik, i’m so sleepy.”

He faked a yawn just for good measure, and it took all of Kartik’s willpower not to drag Aman into his lap and kiss his sleep away.

Perhaps he ought to.

He was about to put his phone down with the intention of doing just that, when the rather rough graze of Aman’s new stubble made him drop it on the floor.

Goddamnit.

“Aman!” Kartik exclaimed in indignation. He took small comfort in the fact that he’d switched his iphone out for an android, so there probably still was hope for an un-cracked phone screen, but still. People seldom enjoyed dropping their phones onto the hard ground.

The man in question ignored Kartik’s exclamation, and repeated the action, this time accompanied by a litter of little, half second kisses impressed upon Kartik’s neck.

Kartik, much to his own horror, let out a rather loud laugh before clenching his teeth and hoping Aman wouldn’t make a big deal of it.

_(But when had the universe ever conspired in Kartik’s favour?)_

“Kartik…" another kiss.

"Carry me in.” Aman repeated, and this time it was less of a whine and more of a command. 

It struck him, yet again, how thoroughly this jerk had Kartik wrapped around his little finger.

“Saale, I can barely keep my eyes open, and you want me to- Aman, NO-”

Stubble met skin, again, and this time Kartik had to dig his fingers into the back of the couch to avoid accidentally shoving Aman off the couch hard enough for him to land face first on the floor.

“Aman, _STOP-_ ”

Another brush. Another kiss. Another adorably violent squirm.

“Carry. Me. In.”

“BHAAD ME JA SAALE-”

Kartik tried to push him away, to get off the sofa and out of his grasp for a second, if only to regain his breath. But Aman could be significantly more clingy than usual whenever he chose to do so.

He held Kartik back with an almost effortless grip, that seemed to be infused with iron nonetheless. Kartik got about halfway up before he found himself being dragged back into Aman’s vice-like embrace.

“CARRY ME IN.”

_“I WON’T.”_

Kartik wasn’t even sure why he was refusing anymore, really, but it was a matter of honour and dignity. And Kartik never compromised on honour. Dignity, sometimes, perhaps. But not honour.

That was to change quickly, however, when Aman snaked his hand up Kartik’s shirt without his realising it. And while Kartik was usually one to encourage that action, this time was a completely understandable exception. 

His body filled with dread, right from his spine to the very tips of his fingers, and the accursed smirk he caught on Aman’s face through the tears in his eyes did not help matters one bit.

“Aman, please Aman, NO- Aman-”

Fingers that Kartik would, under other circumstances, enjoy on his skin found his taut stomach, and the helpless wheezing that emanated from his chest cut Kartik’s words (and thoughts) off rather abruptly.

_“Aman-”_ he hissed sharply, through desperate gasps of breath and laughter that scared away the crows sitting on the nearest telephone wire, “Jaane do yaar, _please-”_

Kartik’s pleas fell on deaf ears, and unfortunately attentive fingers.

And then it got worse.

Aman tipped his boyfriend over, had him laughing defenselessly through expletives, and he added another hand to the already torturous procedure of insistent fingers upon lovably sensitive skin. Kartik batted at his hands aimlessly, and Aman took a moment to savour the way Kartik’s laughter could be described as nothing short of angelic.

“Stop-” Kartik pleaded again, his strained voice rising barely above a whisper, _“Please-”_

Aman did. For a second.

“So you’ll carry me in?”

Kartik shook his head no.

_Too bad._

“Wrong answer.”

Fingers met skin again, and rendered Kartik positively doubled over. Hands that had, until a few seconds ago, clutched desperately at Aman's, now batted aimlessly at his face. Kartik continued begging, pleading through breathless gasps for Aman to cease this torture, which only seemed to spur the bastard on even more.

Aman yanked his right hand out, at one point, aiming for the underside of Kartik’s jaw this time, but stopped himself when Kartik genuinely seemed out of breath. It was fun to watch the tears build up, but they were currently rapidly streaming down Kartik’s face, and that was cue enough for Aman to let this battle go and give his stubborn boyfriend a well-deserved break.

Kartik’s chest heaved with each long-sought-after breath, and Aman almost worried for a second that he’d gone a little too far. Until Kartik was throwing his arm over his eyes and laughing lightly, still slightly unable to draw in enough oxygen to do any better than that.

Aman leaned down, ran a thumb over that delightful dimple, and kissed the tip of Kartik’s nose, much too engrossed in the precious, heart rendering sight in front of him- His tall, strong boyfriend, reduced to a disheveled, wheezy mess of loose limbs and weak chuckling. 

Kartik wiped his face dry, moved his tired arm off his eyes, and was met with the same sight he’d seen a thousand times before, but took his goddamn breath away each time he saw it anyway. Aman didn’t take his eyes off Kartik’s adoring gaze, didn’t notice Kartik’s arm come up at his side and brush the hair out of his face. 

All Kartik could think, all he would let himself think, was how beautiful the man in his arms was.

And the soft twinkle in Kartik’s eyes made his thoughts impeccably clear, against his conscious knowledge 

Aman smiled gently, almost leaned down to give Kartik a long, slow kiss, but changed his mind when another, remarkably nefarious idea struck his consciousness out of nowhere.

Aman smirked.

The smile on Kartik’s face disappeared.

He knew that expression only all too well.

“...what?” Kartik asked feebly, dreading the answer with every fibre of his being.

“Carry me to the bedroom,” Aman said slowly, as if drawing Kartik’s agony out for his own pleasure, “Or admit you’re ticklish.”

Kartik blinked.

Oh, this wasn't fair.

“Now why would i do that?”

The smirk on Aman’s face got wider, and Kartik’s stomach sank deeper.

“So, even after… all that… you firmly maintain that you're not ticklish?”

Kartik shook his head furiously.

“You would rather leave me here, under the lonely, unforgiving night sky to potentially be kidnapped by some dude in a ski mask, than admit to being ticklish?”

Aman watched, with smug satisfaction, as Kartik rolled his eyes in irritation.

“First of all, the kidnapper can keep you-”

“Okay, _rude-”_

“And second, I have no reason to admit I’m ticklish, because I’m not.”

He finished the sentence with an air of (amusingly misplaced) triumph.

Aman sighed. It was a fun game they found themselves in, a sort of tug of war wherein Aman would tug endlessly at Kartik’s obvious ticklish nature, and the stubborn arse wouldn’t budge. A game that had been going on for about a year and a half, now. It was starting to get a little boring, he had to admit.

But Aman was just as stubborn as Kartik, if not more.

“So if you’re not ticklish…” Aman raised an eyebrow, “You wouldn’t mind if i do this-”

He put his hand up Kartik’s shirt again, and Kartik yelped.

Adorable.

“OKAY! Okay, fine, you win, i’ll-” he grimaced, like he was about to utter something that left a bad taste in his mouth, “I’ll... carry you.”

Aman beamed at that, and Kartik cursed all the gods for putting him this deep under Aman's spell.

Aman stood up, deciding to make this whole ordeal marginally easier for Kartik, and threw an annoyingly pleased arm around Kartik's broad shoulders. 

"Carry me away, my dear night in shining armour," he laughed, voice intentionally pitched higher than usual.

In the gap between the utterance of those words, and Kartik's arm finding the crook of Aman's knees, he couldn't help but muse over how there was a tiny bit of truth to his joke. He'd come to Delhi as a mere shadow of a man, unsure of himself or his place in the world. Still trying to find it in himself to take pride in himself, his identity, after years and years of keeping it hidden. His every waking step had been a fight against the shackles of uncertainty that bound him to his past, and Kartik had been his saviour.

Kartik had taught him to be proud. To love himself. To trust blindly that there was- always has been- a place for people like him. They'd done things Aman had never thought he would find himself doing- visited clubs, gotten smashed to the point of letting loose and dancing- something he hadn't done ever in fear of being judged. Because he wasn't exactly what one would call a "good dancer."

Kartik had reliably informed him that he was wrong.

Not about the dancing bit, no. That he was 100% right about. 

The other thing. About being judged. People were, Kartik had told him once, through 4 shots of absinthe in his veins, often far too worried about themselves to actually give a damn about anyone else. All that was holding Aman back was his own anxiety, his own unnecessary phobia of being himself. 

He'd been talking about getting on the dance floor, but something in his eyes as he said it had convinced Aman that he had been talking about something else, too. Another part of himself that Aman was yet to accept in its entirety.

Aman still thought about that, sometimes. Still thought about where he would have been, had he not found Kartik all those months ago.

Not that it mattered, of course. Of all the possible outcomes of his new start, fate, destiny, the universe- whatever you called it- had assigned him the best possible one. He was sure of it.

Kartik's annoyed sigh snapped him out of his reverie.

"Haan, Haan, let's go, princess."

Aman felt a strong arm push him off balance, felt another steady itself firmly under his back, and suddenly he was being hoisted off the floor with all the (frankly unnecessary) grace of a swan.

Kartik Singh was a perfectionist. Even during times he didn't realise it.

Aman laughed delightedly, a funny, high pitched little sound that and Kartik felt go right to his chest. 

_How could he possibly have gotten this lucky?_

The first few steps forward took a little more effort than Kartik would've liked (he prided himself on his strength), but soon he found his momentum and was walking through the sliding doors to their balcony like Aman weighed not more than a feather.

Which was not true, but he did a remarkable job of making it appear as though it was.

Kartik realised, with silent relief, that Aman had put on a little weight since they had started dating. It had nothing to do, however, with Aman letting himself go after having found the love of his life, and a lot more to do with said love of his life forcing him to eat better and care for himself more. So if Kartik was finding it harder to carry Aman than he used to, he had nobody to blame but himself, really.

He didn't mind. Aman was worth all this effort, and more.

The walk to their bed lasted only seconds, but felt like an eternity to Aman all the same. And somehow, simultaneously, tragically short. Kartik pretended not to notice the way Aman stared up at him like his eyes held the stars, because if he did, he knew he wouldn't be able to complete the journey. He knew he'd have to take a moment to steady himself. 

Aman's helplessly infatuated gaze often did that to him.

He navigated his way past their new sofa, toying with the idea of dumping Aman right there- and decided against it. He didn't know why. Kartik often took great pleasure in annoying Aman, but something about the way tonight had gone made him hold back. The soft smile playing at Aman's lips was too ethereal to be replaced by a good-natured frown.

When they reached the bed, Aman expected to be tossed into it like one of Kartik's several hoodies, but was pleasantly surprised when the taller man gently lowered him onto it, with the level of delicateness one would expect from an artist handling his glass sculpture.

(A very apt metaphor, to be fair, Kartik thought of him as nothing less than a work of art).

When Kartik tried to stand back up, Aman was reluctant to let go.

So he didn't.

Kartik finally, _finally_ caught his eyes, and knew at once what Aman was thinking. It didn't take a word, it didn't even take a nod. Just one meaningful look shared between two souls who shared an unbreakable bond, bound together by choice. And then Aman was dragging Kartik down onto himself, capturing his lips in a kiss that made Kartik's heart skip several beats.

Their lips met, and for a moment there, it seemed like the heavens themselves sighed. 

Kartik let his mouth glide languidly over Aman's, let his eyes fall shut, and just let himself feel the way Aman's touch seemed to set his very nerves on fire every time he felt it. 

Aman sighed, ran a shaky hand over the top of Kartik's head, and just lost himself. Neither moved, neither even wanted to move after having found themselves exactly where they wanted to be.

He felt the lips over his own curl into a blissful smile, and Aman couldn't have helped the one that took hold of his own visage, even if he had tried.

He was _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting, thank you more for reading, and thank you MOST for leaving a kudos behind <3


	4. Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repressed memories, rain, and reassurances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Dhanya, for being the sole reason this chapter ever got completed, and Saibow for being the sole reason I began writing it. I owe you both so much.
> 
>  **TW: PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER IF YOU'RE TRIGGERED BY**  
>  Graphic Depictions of PTSD  
> Homophobia  
> Nightmares  
> Panic Attacks  
> Discussions of Trauma  
> Physical Abuse  
> Parental abuse

It hurt to see him like this.

It hurt so much.

Kartik- his forever smiling, larger than life Kartik- writhing under a thick blanket like he wanted out of his own skin. 

He had been turning restlessly for the better part of an hour, now, while all Aman could really do was watch him helplessly. He had done all one could in a situation like this- Medication, ice packs, a comfort movie, his fingers running gently through Kartik’s hair- all that was left was to wait for the fever to pass.

And that was what he was doing.

The movie blaring on their TV screen, though a shared favourite, went more or less unwatched by both men. 

Kartik’s eyes were far too dry, far too strained to tolerate the light emanating from the television. His head was throbbing in pain as it were, he had been barely able to stomach the bulb in their living room (which Aman had noticed, and turned off ten minutes ago). So bright, moving images were far beyond his capabilities.

Aman was looking at the screen, and he could feel the familiar dialogues and the odd song stream into his ears, but he wasn’t _watching._ Not really. Everything that entered his mind disappeared somewhere along the way, lost amidst the cloud of worry that had taken over his head. Worry for Kartik.

He knew there was nothing to worry about, that it was just a minor infection that would probably fade over the next two days or so. 

But that wasn’t the only cause of his anxiety.

The fever had struck Kartik a mere day after they had returned from Allahabad, barely giving him an evening to recuperate from the… entire fiasco. 

An evening which had been spent in comfortable silence, both far too overwhelmed by the day’s events had brought them to do much more than cuddle, whisper assurances of their love, and share the odd kiss. Until they’d fallen asleep right there on the couch, safely enveloped by one another's arms.

And it was in Aman's arms that Kartik had woken up to a hundred degree fever. 

Which had stayed for three days, now. Unchanged, mostly, save for the occasional spike. No doubt made worse by the near constant pain his bruises had brought him.

So there hadn’t been any time for a proper, much-needed conversation. 

About what, exactly, Aman didn’t know. 

Perhaps everything. 

Perhaps nothing.

Perhaps, the beating Kartik had suffered at the hands of Aman’s father, the way Aman had simply turned and run when Kartik had needed him most, the grief of believing you've lost the one you love most forever.

Yes, Aman had come back. 

He always would. 

But that didn't change the fact that he had left in the first place. It shouldn't.

Aman's thoughts were interrupted by a short cough. The frown gracing his forehead deepened ever so slightly.

Aman was scared.

For Kartik, for his compromised health, for the scars his father undoubtedly left on Kartik’s already injured psyche. 

Then again, Kartik never hid his pain from Aman, never shied away from seeking comfort in Aman’s arms when he most needed it. The fact that he hadn’t done it over the past few days probably meant he didn’t need it.

He hoped that’s what it meant.

The oppressive fear wouldn’t leave, though.

_“Jo darr gaya,”_ came the interruption from the TV.  
  


Aman’s attention was yanked back to the movie.

_“samjho mar gaya.”_

Ah.

Gabbar Singh was mocking him.

Aman allowed himself an amused smile at that, then let his gaze shift lovingly down at the man in his lap. 

He was surprised, albeit pleasantly, that Kartik hadn’t even twitched at the utterance of that iconic dialogue. One of his favourites, probably _the_ favourite, across every movie he had ever seen. Aman briefly entertained the thought that Kartik had finally fallen asleep, like he had been praying to whatever higher power was out there that he would.

As if on cue, Kartik shifted minutely, with an even smaller, nearly missed whimper. 

Aman’s heart clenched.

Kartik never whimpered. 

“Kartik…?" Aman said softly.

“...Hm?”

His voice sounded so _small._

“Are you okay?” 

Aman asked, before realising all at once that it was probably the stupidest question to ever be asked. Of course he wasn’t okay. A bad fever, coupled with more injuries than Aman could stomach counting, did not come anywhere close to the realm of “okay.”

Kartik couldn't help the rueful smile that snaked its way onto his face

He wasn’t okay.

God, no, if whatever he was going through was “okay” then may he, or any creature on this godforsaken planet never, ever have to experience whatever hell “not okay” was.

The fever was the least of his problems, really. And even then, Kartik felt like the blood in his veins had been replaced by pure heat, and the steady rain outside their window rendered even their most warm blanket more or less useless. The only reason he hadn’t gone to get another- or asked Aman for another- was because his head was too comfortable on Aman’s lap for him to budge. 

All those pillows they had, even those fancy, heavily overpriced memory foam ones (an impulse buy, while Aman wasn't looking).

And Aman’s lap was still the most pleasant.

Lying there, his boyfriend’s soothing fingers running gently along the roots of his hair- it certainly made his headache a lot more bearable. A headache which had persisted for hours, now, flaring at every little sound, every little beam of light that happened to flit across his field of perception, however momentarily. He could feel a pressure behind his eyes, like there were thumbs steadily pressing on them from the back. 

It was _agony._

And this pain, too, was far overshadowed by the prominent ache that spanned his entire torso, even his tailbone. Today was an especially bad day, it would seem, for the bruises that had mostly quietened down had come back for him with a vengeance. Every little movement, every little twitch made some or another part of his body light up in pain.

All of this, outside the hell his mind was putting him through. 

It wouldn't stop replaying hidden memories, making him relive incidents _(no, one incident, just the one)_ from his past, time and fucking time again, that he wished would have remained forgotten. Every moment awake was spent trying to push them back into the crevices of his consciousness, every moment asleep plagued by nightmares far too vivid.

He wasn’t okay.

Not in the least.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” Kartik said, looking up at Aman.

_Liar, liar._

“Just…” his exhausted mind raced, trying to think of an excuse that would justify his inability to remain still. He had been hoping Aman wouldn’t notice. Of course he had been wrong, he didn't know why he expected otherwise. Aman would always notice.

“...Arm hurts.”

He clutched his badly bruised arm under the covers and winced, trying to convince Aman. The action was only half-faciticious. Turning his face ever-so-slightly to look at Aman had been an immense effort in itself. 

Aman wasn’t convinced. 

He removed his fingers from Kartik’s hair (earning a tired, very disgruntled _“why?”_ from the man) and shifted them to the forehead he hadn’t kissed in much too long, upon Kartik’s strict orders 

_("no, Aman, you can't kiss me, I can’t have you getting sick too- STOP-")._

His eyebrows creased in concern when his fingertips met Kartik’s skin, and the worry deepened further still when he laid his entire palm on Kartik’s head.

His skin was _scorching._

Aman sighed sharply, part frustration, part sympathy. He felt helpless, unable to do anything to ease the pain the love of his life was in. He had done all he could, from dragging Kartik to more than one doctor, to watching over him devotedly, making sure he took his medication on time. 

He still wished he could do more.

Aman watched Kartik's chest rise and fall steadily, his mind working away without his conscious effort. He wanted to do more, so much more, it killed him to helplessly look on as Kartik suffered this way.

And then, suddenly, he realised he could.

“Kartik," Aman broke the still silence of their living room, "utho-” 

He began gently raising Kartik’s head off his lap, when an insistent whine stopped him short. 

Kartik put his hand on Aman's knee, his fingers weakly gripping the kneecap with as much strength as he could muster.

“Just a little longer, please?”

Oh dear.

This was going to be significantly harder than Aman had originally anticipated. 

The quiet, desperate little “please?” at the end, so uncharacteristic of his boyfriend, made Aman seriously consider settling back into their previous positions. It was a tempting thought, no doubt. 

He snapped himself out of it by concentrating on the heat under his fingertips

“I’m going to get you more painkillers, move-”

Kartik blinked.

“But... we’re out of painkillers.”

The confusion hung in the air for a mere second.

And then Kartik realised.

His half-closed eyes snapped open.

_Aman couldn’t mean- no. He wasn’t going to- no, he wouldn't go out in the middle of one of the heaviest rains they’d had all year, would he?_

“I know. I’m going to go buy some.”

Kartik sat up abruptly, regret creeping into every cell in his body just as the action made the pain in his... everywhere, about three times worse. He really could use some painkillers, that was undeniable. And his need for them had been on a steady incline for about two hours.

But he didn’t want to be left alone.

Not now.

Aman regarded him with confusion, evidenced by the furrow of his brows. 

The thought of Aman leaving for his medication agitated Kartik, that much was obvious to anyone. let alone Aman. His face wore a rather alarmed expression,the same one he had adopted when Aman had told him Brooklyn 99 had been cancelled.

But _why?_

“In-” Kartik spared a quick glance at the window, just to make sure he hadn’t been rendered delirious by the fever enough to hallucinate the sound of rainfall.

“In the rain?”

Aman nodded simply.

"Yeah."

Kartik could feel his stomach sinking lower. He didn't want to be left alone right now. He couldn't be alone.

“Arey yaar," he forced his voice to sound as casual as possible, "you’ll fall sick. Wait for the rain to stop, at least.”

Aman raised an eyebrow.

“All the shops will be closed by then, Kartik.”

Kartik knew that. Of course he did. It was what he had been banking on, actually. That the rain would go on for another hour or so, that there would be no point to Aman leaving when it finally did stop.

Damn it.

“Thodi der ruk jao, na?” Kartik pouted, trying his best to give Aman the look that brought him the most sympathy, “please?”

Aman, who was already quite overloaded with sympathy for the very, very unwell man lying on his sofa, did not bat an eye. He couldn’t allow Kartik to struggle like this, not any longer. And especially not when he knew there indeed was something Aman could’ve done to alleviate his pain. 

He had to go. His conscience wouldn’t let him rest, otherwise.

Kartik persisted.

“You broke our one functional umbrella too, Aman, kaise jaayega?”

Aman blinked.

Opened his mouth. Then closed it.

And blinked once more.

And finally decided that it was probably for the best that he remain silent. 

He was, regrettably, wrong.

Kartik’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and fleeting as it was, Aman had to admit it was nice to see his spirits lifted.

“...no-” Kartik laughed- or tried to, anyway, before his lungs gave up on him pretty quick.

“YOU _WOULDN’T_ -”

Aman scowled.

“I’M DOING IT FOR YOU.” Aman protested, knowing full well that his statement would not make Kartik let go.

Kartik, being Kartik, did not let go.

“Haww," he brought his hands to his cheeks in an utterly dramatic fashion, "very bad, Aman tripathi- taking advantage of that poor girl’s feelings for a favour- so mean-"

"STOP."

"How can someone be so cold, so-"

"Kartik."

"Devoid of empathy, do you have any idea-"

“SHUT UP, I NEED HER CAR-”

“Bechari Sameera, crushing on someone so heartless-”

Aman blushed furiously. 

His somewhat frightening glare, directed right at Kartik, did not falter even through his embarrassment.

If looks could kill, Kartik would be six feet under by now.

Sameera was a nice girl, if a bit oblivious. She was a new tenant, she had occupied the flat next door soon after their last neighbors had moved out. Aman and Kartik had introduced themselves as roommates when she had moved in, a few weeks ago. And she had developed a visible crush on Aman ever since.

It was cute. Harmless. 

A major ego boost too, Aman had to admit.

He caught her staring at him in the hallways, sometimes, like if she looked at him long enough he would magically realise his feelings for her, or something. It was annoying, at first, the completely intentional “accidental” touching of his arm, the lingering fingers when he handed her a glass of chai, the infuriating small talk, all of it- until Kartik started noticing it too. And almost immediately developed a burning jealousy. 

Aman thoroughly enjoyed that.

For one thing, yes, it was all sorts of amusing when Kartik put himself directly between Sameera's longing gaze and the object of her desire. The funniest part was that he refused to be subtle about it, stepping forward with purpose and entirely eclipsing Aman with his own body every time he caught her staring.

Even better than that, though, a jealous Kartik was a possessive Kartik. 

And a possessive Kartik was _tons_ of fun in the bedroom.

The ceaseless teasing, however, was not.

Kartik would ask Aman, every now and then, when he would accompany Sameera on that dinner date she had asked him to, about two weeks ago. 

And Aman would roll his eyes, hide a laugh, and remind Kartik who he’s desperately in love with.

Kartik absently noted with amusement, each time, how Aman's foremost reasoning for refusing her offer was his fierce loyalty to Kartik. And not, well, the fact that there was not a chance on god's green earth that he could be even remotely attracted to a woman.

"I mean, after using her like this, I think you're obligated to go on that date-"

“CHUP, SAALE,” Aman bellowed, frowning threateningly. Adorably, in Kartik's opinion, but he didn't point that out.

“OR I-”

He stopped short, unsure of how to continue.

Damn. 

He couldn’t even threaten not to go, it was exactly what Kartik wanted. For Aman to stay, for him to run his fingers through Kartik's hair until the latter fell asleep. 

He couldn’t threaten to leave either, it was exactly what he was about to do anyway.

Aman exhaled sharply.

“Or you...?” Kartik smirked.

He was trying to get Aman to say the words "I won't go." Aman knew he was.

Sneaky bastard.

“Bye.” Aman said with finality, getting up off the couch with a huff. Much to Kartik’s disdain.

He was, however, stopped almost instantly by a hand firmly holding his wrist in place.

“Wait…” 

The hold on his wrist got marginally tighter, and Aman followed the arm holding him back to Kartik’s peculiar gaze. He couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes, right away. If he had to guess, he would have said... helplessness? Desperation?

There was no reason for either.

He brushed the thought away.

“Why won’t you let me go?” Aman chuckled, prying Kartik’s fingers off his wrist with a disturbing level of ease. He was as far from his usual self as possible.

Kartik hesitated. Not because he didn't know what to say, no.

He had an answer ready for Aman.

He just couldn’t say it. 

Didn't know how.

_(Because I need you, because you're the one thing keeping me from falling apart right now, because you're the force that’s keeping the voices and the memories at bay, because I don’t want to be alone, because being left to my own thoughts sounds terrifying right now, because-)_

“Because I want you to massage my forehead.”

Aman let out a surprised chuckle.

“I can do that when I come back, Kartik, let go-”

Kartik sighed deeply. Aman was going out of his way to be extra difficult today, it would seem. 

He knew the frustration was unfounded, he had no reason to be annoyed. He knew Aman was just looking out for him- and he was thankful for that, truly, but god if he didn’t want to scream-

“Take me with you, na?”

Aman looked at Kartik, with the sort of bewilderment that would make one think Kartik had asked Aman to shave his head.

Kartik watched silently as he frowned, then laughed, then did both at once.

"What, in this weather? With a 100° fever?" Aman shook his head 

"Not a chance in hell, are you insane?"

Kartik grit his teeth. 

He might well be, soon. If his mind was left to its own devices for too long.

The patter against the window got louder, right at that moment, and Kartik cursed the stars for it. Aman turned his head, and Kartik caught him biting his lower lip, like he always did when he was about to do something decidedly unpleasant. 

When Aman turned back at him, Kartik knew the battle was lost.

“I have to go before it gets worse.” Aman said, leaning in to press a little kiss into Kartik’s forehead, before he could protest, or even push him away.

“Do you need anything before I leave?”

_You. I need you._

“No.” Kartik sighed.

“Just try not to catch a cold or something, I won’t take care of you if you do.”

Aman smiled.

“Noted.”

Kartik watched helplessly as Aman’s back disappeared out the door, felt his heart sink with the door closed shut, and felt it sink lower still when the darkness that surrounded him got heavy enough to suffocate him. Almost immediately.

Kartik rubbed his eyes.

He hadn’t slept right in three days, _definitely_ not half as much as he should have been sleeping for someone as sick as he was. He couldn't let himself sleep. Aman was around far too often for that.

The nightmares were back with full force. It had been years, almost a decade, even, since Kartik had woken up in a cold sweat in the dead of the night. Fewer years since he had been plagued by memories of a less pleasant time, but long enough for him to let his guard down nonetheless. The flashes of his repressed memory were vivid as it were, but the delirium the fever had brought to his mind made it so, _so_ much worse

He didn’t want to scare Aman, didn't want him to see Kartik in the throes of a night terror. He had tried so hard not to let it happen. He even had Aman banished out of their bedroom and to the sofa, under the pretext of not letting him catch Kartik's fever.

In the quiet, lonely darkness of the living room now, though, he found the temptation of sleep impossible to resist. 

Kartik closed his eyes.

* * *

It started with a voice. Calling his name.

It wasn’t a voice, as much as it was a chant coming from somewhere deep within himself, a corner he dared not look into. 

And not quite his name either, no. 

It was a name he had long since repressed, owing to what, to _whom_ , he now associated that name with. It was a name that the voice shouted at him, just as it had been shouted at him several times before, in a rage intense enough to leave a much younger Kartik paralyzed in fear. 

His father's voice. Yelling. 

He always yelled. 

He was always so, so angry.

_(Why? Kartik had been a good boy, hadn’t he?)_

Kartik shook his head harshly from side to side, once, twice, like he could simply rattle the voice away.

He couldn’t.

_(Who yells so much, god, why was he so angry-)_

And then it was hands, phantom hands grabbing his collar to hold him still, like he was some sort of rag doll _(some sort of punching bag)._

It was hands on his neck, on his wrist, on his shoulder. Keeping him from getting away, from saving himself from the pain he knew was to come. At the hands of the man he was forced to call his fucking father.

_(Why? Just because he had kissed a boy? Just because-)_

Kartik’s eyes flew wide open.

His heart was beating away in his chest, racing like it would stop beating if it dared to slow down even a little. His breath was- it was there, but barely so. Kartik gasped once, twice, hoped to all hell to feel the relief of oxygen flooding his lungs, and- fuck.

He couldn't breathe.

He was trying, trying so hard, but his lungs were collapsing in on themselves, he knew they were- he couldn’t- he needed to fucking _breathe-_

Another attempt. 

Another short gasp.

His lungs wouldn't cooperate.

For a second, just a second, Kartik wished Aman were here. To hold him. Comfort him. Drag him out of this hellhole he was in where Kartik couldn’t himself.

The little whimper that escaped his mouth then went unheard by everyone who mattered- by Aman, who wasn't fucking here even if Kartik had pleaded him to stay. Went unheard even by himself, owing to the sound of blood rushing in his ears. The sound of his father screaming that horrible, horrible name, the clap of his boyfriend’s _(no, not any longer)_ slippers as he ran to save himself

Ran away. from Kartik. Left him behind to defend himself against pure, terrifying (harmful?) rage the likes of which Kartik has never seen since, never wants to see ever again.

_(Why didn’t he stay? He said he loved Kartik. Didn’t he? Who abandons someone they love?)_

Kartik couldn’t fucking breathe.

The memories hit him all at once, flooding his mind with images he didn’t remotely need. He was suffocating, buried under all that he had once buried into himself.

Kartik didn’t remember all of it, just flashes, little flashes- a raised staff, a sharp kick, followed by blinding pain in his stomach- he could _feel_ the hands of the sick bastard he was forced to call his father.

_(Who does this to their own child?)_

Hands that didn't exist right in that moment, but he still felt them on his skin like they were real anyway.

Kartik squirmed miserably in his seat, ignored the way his bruises lit up when he did, and tried to bat away the phantom touches. He pushed desperately at the punishing hold on his wrist _(what hold? There was no hold)_ like his goddamn life depended on it. 

He knew it was pointless. Experience had taught him that all he could do was wait in sheer terror until the hands left him alone, but child-like reflex had him helplessly pushing at the vice like grip on his neck that didn’t exist at all.

_He needed to breathe, dear god, he-_

Kartik heard the rain get harder.

He took a moment to hope that Aman was okay, that he wasn't caught under the heavy downpour, before Kartik was once again dragged away from reality against his will.

The voice got louder.

The blanket that was on him mere moments ago found itself being tossed unceremoniously onto the floor, and then stepped on in Kartik’s desperate attempt to- do something, _anything_ that would even mildly soothe the agony in his head, his lungs, his entire goddamn torso- everything. 

There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about two out of three of those. But the torso, yeah, that he could deal with. There was a bottle of pain reliever in the bathroom somewhere, all he had to do was get to it.

_Even that felt like a herculean task, at this point._

He barely made it three steps before collapsing heavily into the wall beside him. 

Kartik squeezed his eyes shut, and took a minute- perhaps several, he was well past the point of being able to tell anymore- to collect himself, to remind himself that the hands weren't real, to work up the will for another step.

The walk from their living room to their bathroom was longer than he remembered.

Kartik wished Aman were here.

He stumbled into the bathroom, somehow, despite the tunnelling in his vision _(oh, he forgot he was sleep deprived too),_ the shudder in his knees threatening to floor him any second. 

It was like he was 16 again, Kartik mused through gritted teeth. Like he was trying to get away from his father as fast as he could, with a gait that looked half like a stagger but was meant to be a run. Except this time, it wasn't the man himself, just the presence he had left behind. And Kartik couldn't get away. The presence accompanied him, attached himself to Kartik like a fucking parasite and refused to let go.

He brushed aimlessly at his shoulders once more.

The door to their bathroom swung open wide, and the bottle Kartik sought after came right into view. It was right where he left it on the sink, and he couldn't help but thank the stars, flooded with relief. 

At least something was going his way tonight.

Kartik flipped the light switch on, cringing immediately into himself when the sudden brightness hit eyes. The ache behind his eyes made itself painfully known at once, forcing him to hide his face in his trembling hands. He blindly made his way towards the sink, face still safely hidden. It took him several moments before he could open his eyes once more.

When he finally did, Kartik found himself wishing he hadn't.

The sight he was met with was downright _pathetic._

Red eyes, large, dark bags under them that made it seem like Kartik hadn’t slept in a week. His flushed cheeks stood out amidst his worryingly pale visage. His forehead was coated in a light sheen of sweat, one that shined grotesquely under the bright light. 

His mind wandered, for a moment, wondering how one could feel like they were slowly freezing, but find themselves sweating simultaneously.

The human body was a strange, strange thing.

Kartik grimaced.

It was when he really took in the the broken figure in their bathroom mirror- the gaunt, exhausted shadow of a man that was wearing Kartik’s shirt- that he realised he needed to take it off before he could even think of putting the injuries on his back to rest, to a small extent at least. 

He felt his innards twist.

Kartik had to pull his t-shirt off over his own head.

Himself.

_...fuck._

Kartik wrapped his fingers over the edge of his t-shirt _(why the fuck wasn’t he wearing a shirt?)_ , began raising it unsteadily over his torso, and let go with a sharp gasp when his arm screamed in protest. 

His entire torso had been battered, beaten to the point of unconsciousness, yes. But his right arm had by far suffered the most unkind blow. the ugly violet on his bicep rendered even the simplest tasks impossible. 

Kartik bit back a frustrated sob.

He could only get as far as his chest, this time, before being forced to let go.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

He grit his teeth hard enough for his jaw to ache and tried once more, screwing his eyes shut and forcefully swallowing down a scream that threatened to escape. He reached his chest once more, took a deep breath before proceeding further upwards. And almost let go when he felt a stabbing pain in his upper back, just below the shoulder.

Fucking _hell._

He needed Aman. 

_Why wasn't Aman here?_

The higher he got the shirt off himself, the more his back and shoulders decided to join the orchestra, it seemed. 

Kartik didn't think he could take much more.

It was agony, sheer, unadulterated fucking agony, and it pushed his already exhausted mind a step further towards a fast approaching breakdown. 

He didn’t want one. 

Not with Aman coming home any moment now.

The shirt came off, finally. After five minutes of painful struggle that, to Kartik, felt like hours. He clumsily let it slip from his fingers to the floor, unable to bring himself to care where it landed. His arm still pulsated, however faintly, now that his hand was back down, hanging comfortably at his hip.

Kartik took a deep, cleansing breath, and reached for the bottle. He clenched it, hard, with the intention of raising it to his back. Kartik held the bottle up, open and ready over his shoulder, trying not to jostle his joints too much. His limbs felt heavy as lead with every damn movement. 

A fever, more bruises than he had cared to count, and sleep deprivation.

Not the best three hit combo, one had to admit.

He pressed the nozzle, wishing with all he had that this would take some of his pain away.

Nothing came out.

_What the fuck?_

He shook it a few times, and tried again.

Still nothing.

It took him a third, pointless try, before the horror finally dawned on him.

The bottle was empty. 

_Fuck._

_Fuck, fuck, FUCK-_

The scream that tore through his throat didn’t sound like his own. 

It didn’t even feel like his own, though Kartik had felt its weight as it came out of him. 

Raw, rough and forced out of his chest like it didn’t want to escape at all, wasn't supposed to be released at all. All the tragedy and the hilarity and the goddamn _frustration_ Kartik felt in every fibre of his being, condensed into one short, desperate cry.

_This wasn't fair._

Kartik threw the bottle to the floor, hard enough to dent the soft metal of the canister on the tile underneath.

_This wasn't fucking fair._

He gripped the sides of the sink, hard enough for his knuckles to turn pale.

And let the tears fall.

* * *

  
  


Aman was wet. 

And he was cold. 

And he was very, _very_ annoyed.

But above that, above all of that, he had managed to procure everything he needed to make his boyfriend feel better, even if it was to a minimal extent. Enough to keep their medicine cabinet stocked for the next 10 times either of them found themselves a victim of a hate crime. 

Knock on wood.

So he wasn’t complaining. 

Much.

The medical store they frequented had closed down, so Aman had been forced to drive around in the rain amidst delhi traffic (why in god's name were there these many people on the streets at this hour, under rain this heavy?) looking for one that was open. On a Sunday, at 10:00 pm, under rainfall that seemed like it was straight out of a movie about the apocalypse.

He had nearly cried in relief when he did find one. Twenty whole minutes later.

His trial didn’t end there, however, because the nearest, least disruptive parking spot he found was a good 50 metres away from the store. Aman had been forced to sprint under the pouring rain, stand there shivering while the man behind the counter took an unnecessarily long time to fetch what Aman asked for, and then sprint back to the car. 

Aman was drenched.

As if that wasn't enough, he slipped in a puddle and nearly fell flat on his face, at one point. He only managed to prevent the fall by ramming his wrist into the wall beside him to steady himself.

Ow.

Even that was less frustrating as compared to what came next: having to return the keys, and in the process face Sameera's insufferable attempts at flirtation. 

She batted her eyes, made a joke or two that Aman barely registered, and once again let her fingers maintain contact with Aman's MUCH longer than necessary, as far as simple key transfers go. She had even invited him in to towel himself down, perhaps use her hair dryer while he was at it.

And through it all, Aman was forced to nod and smile, to respond with the sort of cheerful charm he didn’t remotely possess in that moment. 

A _nightmare._

But none of it mattered. 

All that mattered was Kartik.

Aman impatiently keyed the lock to their door, half in a need to escape the cold air seeping into his skin, half in his anticipation to see how Kartik was doing. 

He slowly pushed the door to their apartment open, with careful quietness to avoid waking his boyfriend up.

The darkness that pervaded his vision immediately did not surprise him one bit. Of course the lights were off. He had been expecting, hell, hoping, that Kartik would have fallen asleep.

The unwavering silence didn't surprise him either.

Kartik wasn’t a very light sleeper as it was, add the exhaustion of battling an illness to that, and it was small wonder he was sleeping like a log.

Or so Aman thought.

He squinted in the darkness, eyebrows furrowing when he made out what he could.

The couch was empty.

A closer look told him the blanket Kartik was using had been abandoned on the floor too.

Something was wrong.

That was their thickest, most comfortable blanket. Not a chance in hell Kartik would have gone to sleep without it. 

Aman turned his gaze to the far end of the hall.

Their bathroom door was half open, the light inside turned on. 

And then Aman heard it. The faint sound of sharp, laboured breathing, followed by what sounded far too much like a choked sob. 

He frowned.

“Kartik?”

* * *

He couldn’t look in the mirror.

Couldn’t bring himself to.

Because the man, the shadow of a man who looked back at him- he looked eerily, uncomfortably similar to the man who occupied every horrible second of Kartik’s nightmares. 

It was in the further growth of his stubble- the slight blurring of the otherwise sharp edges, and the darkening of his chin. The blood red eyes of a man bottles-deep in liquor. A haggard face, flushed as though in anger- all too familiar, all too painful to look at. 

So he kept his head down, stared pointedly at the drain at the bottom of their basin until his vision turned blurry with tears, and prayed for the images to fucking stop.

They didn’t.

Of course they didn't.

He heard the rainfall grow louder.

As did the voices in his head. He couldn't stop hearing it, couldn't stop replaying the sickening sound of his father spitting his name, like some broken goddamn record. Couldn't stop fucking reliving what came after- every taunt, every kick, everything.

_Disgusting,_ his father had called him.

Kartik couldn’t hold back the sob that left his mouth.

Or the next, or the one after that, over and over until his already shivering body was wracked with more tremors. Deep, harsh ones that left him hanging onto the edges of the basin for dear life. Every breath in was a weight in his lungs and every breath out was a broken gasp, but all Kartik was simply grateful that he could breathe.

Kartik's chest heaved with the effort of having to stand upright through it all, but he wouldn't dare let himself sit down. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get back up if he did. And the absolute last thing he wanted was for Aman to come home and find him like… this.

This weak. 

This pathetic. 

He fucking hated that he still let something from so long ago affect him this much.

Hated that he let it come back for him, time and time again, each time worse than the last.

Kartik jerked his head, trying to blink away the sudden flood of memories.

It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out what had brought it back this time. 

If Kartik were up to it, he might even have laughed at the striking similarities between what happened mere days ago and the event from nearly 13 years ago. Complete with the runaway boyfriend. The resemblance was uncanny, to the point of being amusing in some twisted way.

Except, perhaps, that Aman’s father had been far kinder as compared to his own. 

He remembered pleading for his father to stop, being forced to use his teeth when the man wouldn’t listen (didn’t want to listen). He remembered handing the staff back to Aman’s.

And Aman had come back, hadn't he? Aman hadn't shoved Kartik away and turned the other cheek. He hadn't pretended their love had never existed. 

Pretended Kartik had never existed.

There were differences. 

Ones that didn't matter.

In some odd, convoluted way, both incidents had merged in his mind, now. Tangled themselves among each other tight enough and intricately enough to be impossible to separate. His nightmares made sure he saw both. 

He saw the alley from his childhood, sometimes, and the Tripathis' backyard during others. His memories at times flickered between a dark evening and a bright afternoon, between an empty street and a horrified crowd.

Though the monster of a man wielding the staff remained a constant. As he had, for years now.

Kartik bit his lip.

_Iss bimaari ko yeh lekar aya hai,_ the words echoed in his head. 

_No, no, I'm not sick, I'm not-_

He shook his head, as though trying to convince an unseen crowd that he wasn't sick. Wasn't a freak, or disgusting, or-

_iske saath wapas jayegi_

Another sob. 

Another fatigued heave.

Kartik squeezed his eyes shut, grit his teeth, and prayed for anything, anything at all that would offer him some semblance of relief.

He heard the front door open, followed by quiet, gentle footsteps.

“Kartik?”

_Aman._

* * *

  
  


“I brought your medicines,” Aman called out, half expecting Kartik to emerge smiling from the bathroom, relieved that he finally had his painkillers. Or at least an annoyed groan at Aman's loud voice.

All he heard in response was another weak cough.

Aman's eyebrows pressed into a slight frown.

He brushed his fingers absently along the switchboard next to their door, letting muscle memory find the light switch for him. His eyes stayed fixated on the light peeking through the bathroom down the hall.

When the lights turned on, he was met with a sight that he had more or less anticipated, but put a knot in his stomach all the same.

Kartik wasn’t on the sofa. 

Aman grimaced. 

He hadn’t been imagining the sounds at all.

Quiet, cautious footsteps led him to their bedroom, and one peek inside told Aman that Kartik wasn’t in there. The bed was empty, looking almost too big without the comforting sight of his boyfriend lying fast asleep on it. There was no blanket either, which meant Kartik hadn’t even been in the bedroom.

He uneasily shifted his gaze back to the half-open door. 

Kartik was in pain. 

That was obvious, now.

What truly frightened him, however, was that the pain had apparently gotten bad enough to be worth shedding tears over. And Kartik was not one to shed tears often. Aman didn't think he had ever seen Kartik shed a tear over an injury, including that time he somehow managed to fall off their bike and dislocate his shoulder.

His thought of fetching himself a towel for himself lay forgotten as Aman walked to their bathroom, steps more purposeful and pace quickened by the consistently deepening worry he was feeling for Kartik. 

Aman hadn’t thought the pain had been that bad, all he had complained about was his arm aching, which it had been doing on and off over the past three days.

But this? 

His strong, brave Kartik with a threshold for pain the size of a goddamn ocean, his Kartik who didn’t spare a single tear _while_ being beaten, now crying in pain- Aman couldn’t wrap his head around it. 

He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Everything his imagination suggested that he would find on the other side of that door was terrifying.

His thoughts took him another direction, however momentarily. An alternative crossed his mind, another possible reason for Kartik to be in the state he was- maybe, just maybe, his suffering wasn’t physical at all-

No.

No, Kartik would have said something. He always did. He wouldn’t hide away from Aman now. Not after all they’d been through.

Would he?

Aman placed an unsteady hand on the door handle, and swallowed.

_Please let him be okay, please-_

He pushed the bathroom door wide open, just in time to catch Kartik hastily dragging his fingers across his face, as if wiping his tears away. Which only served to confuse Aman more. They never hid their tears from each other. Maybe everyone else, maybe the entire world- but not each other.

_What the hell is going on?_

“Kartik…” Aman stepped closer.

Kartik stepped away.

Crap.

This was not good. This was so not good, dear God, he hadn’t thought Aman would be back home so soon. Hadn’t heard him entering until he had called Kartik’s name out. He felt a chill pass through his bones, sudden fear gripping every fibre of his being. There was a part of him that knew, of course, that this was Aman. This was just Aman. He didn’t need to hide his tears. Aman wouldn’t scream at him for crying. Wouldn’t judge him, not in a billion years.

But he couldn’t help it.

Kartik took a deep breath, clenched his eyes shut and forced a bleak excuse of a smile on his face. He knew there was no use now. He knew he had shown Aman too much as it were, but force of habit wouldn’t let him face even the love of his life without a mask on.

Kartik turned slowly, his eyes reluctantly meeting Aman’s.

The delicate concern on his face was almost Kartik’s undoing.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything- any sort of reassurance that he was fine, that Aman needn’t worry. But his mind seemed to be in an especially treacherous mood, that day, because all Kartik could manage was a shrug. A weak, dismissive shrug that only served to make Aman worry more.

Aman's eyes travelled over his boyfriend’s face, heart aching with every inch his gaze crossed. His eyes held the sort of exhaustion in them that Aman rarely saw in anyone’s eyes, let alone Kartik’s. The face Aman longed to have buried in his neck was deathly pallid, but the most distressing of all was his smile- tight lipped, forced, so clearly hiding something truly awful behind it.

He stayed where he was, suddenly uncertain of himself

“...Kya hua?”

Kartik shook his head.

He didn’t trust himself to respond. Not like this. 

Not in this state.

Kartik was teetering on the edge of a breakdown, he was close to giving up entirely, close to letting go of the edge of the cliff. He was terrified of the smallest move setting him off, pushing him past the point of no return. 

Some small, desperate part of him wanted to, god, he wanted to- The way Aman was looking at him was not helping matters. But… there was something holding him back.

And he knew exactly what that “something” was. 

Experience, an inability to trust, a fear of vulnerability- call it what you will. In the end, it meant Kartik knew better than to unburden himself at Aman’s expense.

He had been through this before

Kartik would break down, open his heart and show them everything he kept hidden away, and they would leave.

They would always leave. Kartik would open his doors to let them in, and they would let themselves out.

There was a part of him that knew, a rather large part that had enough and more faith in Aman’s love for him, that was convinced that Aman was different. He had proved time and time again that he was different.

But Kartik wasn’t.

As much as he hated it, he was still that young boy who looked at every act of kindness with a hint of doubt, took every declaration of loyalty with a pinch of salt. Aman had seen Kartik at what he thought was his lowest, but this… This was beyond that. This was beyond anything Aman had ever seen before, anything Kartik had let him see before. 

And the thought frightened him.

He didn’t want history to repeat. Not with Aman. 

He didn’t want Aman to open the door Kartik had padlocked, didn’t want him to leave because what he saw on the other side proved to be too much for him. All Kartik really had was this man, this wonderful man who had stuck by him when nobody else had. Kartik didn't want to imagine a life without him, let alone having to live one.

And there was something else, too

Something Kartik wasn’t proud of.

He was scared.

He didn’t want Aman to say something wrong, something unintentionally cruel that would send Kartik spiralling into depths he never wanted to visit ever again. 

He tried telling himself otherwise. Aman was different. Aman would understand. Aman could help.

And yet-

No. He couldn’t let himself do it.

Kartik tried to smile again, a smile that was supposed to be all peace and oh-so-carefree.

He felt his lower lip tremble, and decided against it immediately.

Aman saw it anyway.

“Kartik?” he asked softly, laying the tips of his fingers on the heart rending shade of purple just beneath his collarbone.

Kartik grit his teeth.

“Kya hua? Batao na?” 

He looked away, unable to look Aman in the eyes any longer. He could feel it approaching, feel the dam gates creak before they inevitably burst open and let years and years of agony rush forth.

_Shut up, shut up don’t open your mouth, don’t say anything, don’t fucking ruin this-_

Aman put a warm palm on Kartik’s cheek, gently guiding Kartik’s unwilling gaze back onto himself.

He tilted his head.

“Dukh raha hai?”

The sob was out before Kartik could stop it.

“Kartik, what- hey, hey, come here,” Aman dragged him in closer and closer, the pitch of his voice raised in equal parts surprise and worry. He tried his best to keep his voice level. He couldn't let himself be overtaken by panic now, as much as it was slowly creeping up his spine.

Aman wasn't used to this.

He had seen Kartik break down before. Of course he had. You don't pledge your devotion to someone and not be there for them through their lowest. But each of the several times he watched the love of his life embroiled with pain, it disarmed him completely.

Aman was often the one breaking down. Aman was often the one looking to Kartik for a solace from the storm within when the voice in his head spiralled out of control. It was Kartik, forever stoic, perpetually strong Kartik picking the pieces of his heart back up on a bad day. 

Kartik was his rock.

So, no, he wasn't used to this.

_(Maybe some things you shouldn't get used to)_

But that didn't stop him. 

Of course it didn't. 

Aman was Kartik's rock, as much as Kartik was his.

Kartik opened his mouth, then let it slowly tremble closed when he realised the words he was desperately looking for had failed him. 

There was so much he wanted to say. So much. The thread he was hanging on by had come loose, and Kartik was falling over the edge. Deeper, deeper into a pit he liked to pretend didn’t even exist.

But here he was. Falling. Blindly hoping Aman would be there to catch him.

All his good senses protested, roared at him to shove it all back down from where it came and pretend this never happened. He wanted to feel Aman’s arms tighten around him, and comforting as the thought was, Kartik was hit with the sudden urge to shut it down. 

His heart seemed to be at war with his mind, locked in heated debate about where to go from here. His heart wanted to trust, to let go and lean on Aman. But his mind-

Damn his mind.

Kartik clenched his fist.

Took a deep, shuddering breath.

And made his decision.

He couldn’t let his mind win this time.

Kartik was tired. 

He was fucking _tired_. 

Of having to wake up to darkness and an empty bed after a nightmare, of turning back and forth sleeplessly until the sun rose, or exhaustion overwhelmed him. Of having to hold Aman at an arm’s length when all he wanted to do was hold him as close as possible. Of having to pretend he didn’t have a two ton weight in his chest following him around everywhere he went- which was confined to two rooms a day, thanks to this fever which had struck at so convenient a time.

He was tired of pushing Aman away.

Kartik was falling apart, and all he wanted was for someone to hold him together.

To wrap his arms around Aman. 

To never let go.

So he did.

And that was all it took for Aman to piece two and two together. His arms were on Kartik’s back in the blink of an eye, holding him as close and as tight as he possibly could, without irritating the bruises that littered Kartik’s body like leaves on an autumn ground. 

He didn’t know what was happening- couldn’t begin to understand what was going through Kartik’s mind in that moment. All he knew was that Kartik needed him, needed all the comfort Aman could offer him- and that was all he needed to know.

“Tell me what’s wrong, na” he rubbed his hand up and down Kartik’s shuddering spine, “Please?”

He really wanted to talk. To put it out there so he wouldn’t be the sole bearer of this crushing burden anymore.

He really wanted to.

And here Aman was, freely opening his arms to Kartik and offering him a way to let go safely, to hold his hand and walk him through this path he had hoped he would never find himself on again.

He felt a soft kiss being pressed into his neck.

“Please?” Aman whispered, “I want to help.”

That was all it took.

Kartik tried, then tried again, his voice breaking off in a sob with every syllable he uttered. The demons in his mind wanted out, and his tongue wouldn’t cooperate. Every attempt was met with the same disappointment, the same pain of having to find the right words all over again. It was so hard, so hard to do something every fibre of his being wanted to do- needed to do. But couldn’t.

All he could do was fall apart in Aman’s arms.

All Aman could do was let him.

Kartik was always quiet with his grief. Silent, quickly shed tears so nobody would catch him at what he thought was his lowest. Not a shake, not a single outward movement. One would have to stare a good few seconds at his face to make out that he was hurting. And that was if he bothered to show it in the first place- his pain was always hidden away, in his palms, in his knees, in Aman’s chest. Always hiding, always scared of being caught like… this. 

_(Damn freak,_ was what Kartik’s father had called him. 

_No son of mine-)_

For Aman to see Kartik free of all those confines, finally expressing all the pent up pain from years ago- it should have been a relief. Aman should have been glad, perhaps even proud, but all he could feel in that moment was overwhelming worry. 

Kartik didn’t cry. Not like this. Whatever it was on his mind, was eating away at him far more than Aman could even imagine. And he did not have a fucking clue what to do.

“Kartik,” he tried yet again, voice heavy with an ache that missed Kartik’s ears, “what’s going on?”

Aman was starting to sound like a broken tape recorder, he knew he was. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to make Kartik understand- that Aman was there, that he would always be there, that all he wanted was for Kartik to let him in. But his words seemed to be failing him rather spectacularly, so he settled for asking- _pleading_ \- for Kartik to tell him what was running through his mind. 

Kartik tried. Once again.

This time, all he could get out was a weak “I’m-” before dissolving into a coughing fit.

He had forgotten he was sick too, apparently. 

How wonderful.

Aman grimaced, and looked up at the ceiling, hoping as deeply as he could that this would all be over soon. The man in his arms was hurting in every possible way, in as much intensity as he possibly could without collapsing. 

Kartik screwed his eyes shut, tried to focus everything he had on the way Aman clutched at him, on the coldness of his arms that quietened the heat in Kartik’s skin, on the wet state of his favourite mustard T-shirt that was oddly comforting. 

He struggled against the invisible hands around his neck, tried to draw in a breath before dissolving into another fit. Aman rubbed his back gently, trying to soothe him the best he could.

His heart ached for Kartik.

There had to be something he could do, anything at all. There had to be. Something that would at least calm Kartik’s breathing down, if not his mind. His body was fighting off sickness already, and the added pressure on his lungs was not doing him any favours whatsoever.

Aman closed his eyes. Detached his mind from the distress it was feeling for Kartik, took the moment of clarity to happen upon an age old memory.

He knew immediately what to do.

It was an age old trick, one Aman had picked up from his mother as a child. 

It was the only thing he could think to do.

He tilted Kartik’s head gently downwards, and Kartik let him, fully expecting Aman’s lips to find his forehead.

The cool air he felt instead was a surprise.

Albeit a pleasant one.

Aman was standing on his tiptoes and blowing on Kartik’s forehead.

Kartik found himself perplexed, at first. He didn’t know what Aman was doing, couldn’t explain this unexpected action to himself if he tried. But it felt far from bad, so he decided he didn’t need to know the reason behind it.

Aman let his lips curl into a small smile, stopping but once to catch his breath before he was gently blowing on Kartik’s head again.

He had seen his mother do this when he was much younger, far more times than Aman could have bothered to count at the time. Keshav had been prone to meltdowns as a child. Any orphan would be. Any child moved into a strange, unfamiliar home, one he had visited only twice before would be. Any child forced to settle for comfort at the arms of veritable strangers, in a strange new city, soon after losing his parents would be. 

Aman would watch silently as his mother picked his then four year old cousin up, laid him gently to bed, and blew on his forehead until sleep overtook him. 

There had been no harm in attempting it here. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Aman felt him calming down minutely, and sighed in relief. He looked at Kartik’s eyes, saw the latter adopt a slightly confused, goofy smile, and felt his heart swell.

He wanted his Kartik back. 

His Kartik who loved to laugh and loved to live, who smiled like he held the sun behind his eyes and stood tall like nothing could ever bow him down. 

But Aman knew, as much as he wished it wasn’t true for Kartik’s sake, that the shadow of a man holding onto him for dear life was just as much a part of his boyfriend as the other one was.

“What happened?” Aman attempted once more, half expecting to be met with silence.

He was right.

Kartik’s smile slipped from his face. He cast his gaze downwards, as though suddenly gaining interest in the small crack in the tile underneath Aman’s foot (The story behind it involved dumbbells, and a man who enjoyed watching himself working out in the mirror. Aman hadn’t let him live it down for months afterwards).

The memory lightened the crease in his eyebrows a little. Not enough for Aman to notice, however. All he could see was Kartik’s inability to meet his eyes.

He wasn’t ready to talk just yet. 

Aman didn’t mind. 

Aman would give him all the time he needed.

He brought his hands from Kartik’s face down to his shoulders, letting his palm trail down Kartik’s neck. He smiled softly, as though silently assuring Kartik that it was okay. That he would wait, no matter how long it took.

Kartik managed a small half-smile back. His mind lingered on the cold imprint Aman’s hands had left on his cheek.

Aman tilted his head, thoughts racing again. If the mental pain was off limits for now, he could at least address the physical. 

“Back hurts?” he asked, knowing the answer already.

Kartik nodded..

Aman smiled, equal parts soft and rueful.

“Bedroom chalo,” He gestured vaguely out the door, “I’ve left your medicines there.”

Kartik relaxed a little. His mind let him forget the world around him for a moment, just a moment, let the relief of having some of his pain taken away flood him. But then he stilled, remembering the empty bottle he had thrown to the ground- still in sight, now lying rather pitifully underneath the sink.

Crap.

“We’re out,” he said quietly. 

“Bottle got over.”

He wished he had known that before Aman left, wished he had asked Aman to bring some back home. Painkillers were nice but the wait for them to kick in, having to resist the temptation of downing three more was far from it.

Apparently, he didn’t need to.

“Oh,” Aman replied nonchalantly, something Kartik had not been expecting at all.

“It’s okay, I bought some more.”

Kartik thought he had misheard. 

He hadn’t.

“Ointments, this time, the sprays clearly aren’t doing their job well enough.”

Kartik blinked, suddenly flooded with gratitude. 

It was amazing, the way Aman always seemed to know exactly what Kartik needed, exactly when he needed it, all without Kartik ever having to say a word. He let himself ponder, for a moment, how he could have possibly gotten this lucky. 

It was a little… daunting, some days, living with the knowledge that Aman really was all Kartik had. A fact which had only become so much harder to accept after watching him leave Kartik behind a few days ago.

But right now, in this moment, Kartik realised that he was enough. 

He always would be enough.

Aman sighed softly, almost too soft for Kartik to catch.

Almost. 

Kartik found himself wondering absently what that sigh meant. He heard the hint of despair in it. He could make out the sigh was forlorn, not annoyed. And yet, some small, miserable little voice in his head asked him if-

Aman kissed him. 

It was barely even a kiss, more of a chaste peck, a second-long contact of their lips that Kartik barely registered before it was over. But it had been there, it had been real. Kartik could still feel it.

He smiled despite himself.

When you kiss someone several times a day, to the point where it becomes habitual, all the kisses start to bleed together. Become impossible to differentiate, just another memory entangled with millions others. Save for a few, perhaps.

But Kartik had a feeling this one would stay.

Aman brushed his thumb over Kartik’s cheek, wiping away the remnants of a nearly dried tear.

Kartik brought his hand up to hold Aman’s in place, and closed his eyes. He leaned into the touch, just for a second, a mere moment of comfort before Aman was pulling away with an apologetic smile.

Kartik huffed.

“Come,” Aman grabbed his hand, guiding him to the pleasant, familiar darkness of their room.

* * *

He knew Aman wanted him to talk.

And he did too, he really did, he just- 

Kartik didn’t know if he was ready.

Aman didn’t ask him a thing. He got on the bed on his knees, scooted over to the edge that faced away from their light bulb (another gesture Kartik was thankful for), and motioned for Kartik to seat himself in front of him.

Aman turned the lights on, and the familiar sight made his stomach twist.

Kartik's back was a veritable minefield.

He thought he would be used to this by now- the discolouration of his skin where wood met flesh, the visible raise in his skin where the injuries had swollen, the ugly marring of Kartik's graceful back. But each time Aman could bring himself to look, it was just as difficult as the last time. He could barely stomach looking. Touching them was a hell of its own kind, but Aman would walk barefoot through hell for the man in front of him.

Kartik swallowed.

Touching his bruises was bad, perhaps, but having them touched was infinitely worse. Kartik didn’t like asking for help. He didn’t enjoy vulnerability. Aman was the exception, most of the time, but this situation forced him into vulnerability the likes of which Kartik had never, ever experienced before. Not with Aman, not with anyone. 

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t have it in him to push Aman away either.

As much as his breath felt constricted when he felt Aman’s hands on his back (memories, brought back too many fucking memories- there wasn’t enough money for hospital visits, growing up. Kartik was forced to rely on his dad. He had no choice to stomach the idea of the very hands that hurt him attempting to heal him too) It was what he needed.

It’s an odd, rather unfair situation to be in, when what you want and what you need are at odds with each another.

But when has life ever been fair to him?

So Kartik swallowed, closed his eyes, and tried to make peace with what was to come.

Aman couldn’t.

Not in a million years.

His heart seemed to be locked in an internal battle between grief and rage; 

Grief for the love of his life, for all the world had put him through at far too young an age. Grief that he was being forced to live through that hellish phase yet again. Aman knew Kartik would never blame him, wouldn’t even let him blame himself. But he couldn’t shake the guilt that had rooted itself in his chest. 

Then there was the rage at his father, for hurting the love of his life like no one deserves to be, rage at himself for abandoning Kartik when he needed Aman most, at the policeman who had come for him and Kartik for daring to love one another, at the entire fucking system that had caused them both so much pain.

But above all, above _all_ , Aman was practically shaking with rage for that sick bastard who had dared to scar his own son.

He traced his fingers gently, carefully, over the angry violet just below Kartik's shoulder.

Another bruise. One that had formed right over his age-old burn scar, as if in some sort of twisted metaphor for Kartik's predicament.

Kartik had told Aman that story. Of a drunk father, a heated iron poker, and a 12 year old boy who'd made the terrible mistake of staying out too late. He remembered that night like it was yesterday. It was six months into their relationship, just six, when Aman had opened up about his past. Kartik had followed right after, even if it was somewhat hesitantly. 

One thing had lead to another, until Kartik had clutched on to him for dear life, shaking silently until he had fallen asleep in Aman’s arms.

Aman leaned down without a moment's thought, and let his tender lips meet the rough bruise. His lips lingered longer than Kartik had expected, and his eyes fell closed, soothing scars both old and new. 

He uncapped the capsule in his hand, put some on his fingers and began working a slow, circular motion where his lips had been moments before. 

Kartik, much to his surprise, didn’t feel frigid dread seeping into his chest. 

He had expected to. He really had.

But the way Aman did it, cautious and gentle and so, so loving, in a way Kartik had never experienced once before- It made his breath catch in his throat. Aman did it like he really cared. 

He could still remember the feel of his father’s fingers on his back. Harsh, somewhat rushed, like his father was frustrated with what he had to do. Like he wanted to get it over with and never speak of this again. It hurt Kartik, sometimes, the way that man used to do it. Not that his sorry excuse of a father ever cared. Of course not.

Aman traced the pad of his thumb over another bruise, at the base of Kartik’s neck this time, stopping immediately when he felt Kartik squirm.

Followed by a sharp intake of breath.

“Sorry,” Aman pulled his hand slightly away, “am I hurting you?”

Fuck.

Of all the things to happen now, his most disliked, most inconvenient oddity acting up was the absolute last thing Kartik needed.

“No, no,” He shook his head, refusing to clarify his sudden discomfort further. Aman waited, then waited a moment longer, for an explanation that never came.

He frowned.

“Kartik, if I’m hurting you, you can tell me.”

Kartik wanted to laugh.

“You’re not. I promise you’re not,” he shook his head, biting his lip to keep his mirth at bay, “keep going.”

Aman didn’t keep going.

“Kartik, I don’t want to make it worse-”

“It doesn’t hurt!”

“Don’t try to be tough-”

“I’M NOT!”

He wasn’t, God no. Kartik was way past the point of trying to be tough. Laughably past it, honestly, the anxious gaze he could feel on his back was only proof of that.

“IT DOESN’T HURT, JUST- KEEP GOING.”

“Then why did you squirm?”

Kartik blinked.

“I- well,” He took a deep breath.

And trailed off. Giving Aman an uncomfortable shrug in the process. In the few seconds of confused silence that passed after that, Aman stared at Kartik quizzically, ran his mind through a million different explanations behind what the hell had just happened, and was about to run it through a million more, when-

Oh.

Oh, dear. 

That was hilarious. 

Or, no, it wasn’t. Not now. But in another situation, perhaps, it would have been.

Aman was tickling him.

He would have taken a moment to enjoy that, under the right circumstances, but right now all he could think about was how to go about this without making Kartik squirm further. It was fun to watch him squirm, usually. But not like this.

Of course his feather-light touches were ticklish, of _course_ they were- Aman didn’t know how he hadn’t seen this coming. But right now, he found himself at an impasse. He couldn’t increase the pressure of his fingers, couldn’t risk hurting Kartik. But he couldn’t just keep them light either, Kartik wouldn't be able to sit still.

And then it came to him.

Aman remembered reading, somewhere, that the element of surprise was a large part of feeling tickled. It was why people couldn’t tickle themselves- the brain already expected it.

He decided to try something.

“Kartik.”

Kartik turned his neck leftwards, as much as he could without jostling his head too much.

“Hm?”

“I’m going to tell you before I touch your back, okay?”

Kartik frowned.

“...why would you-”

“Just,” Aman patted his shoulder, “trust me.”

Kartik wanted to laugh. He had already trusted Aman more than he had ever trusted anyone, more than he ever thought he could trust anyone. What was once more?

He nodded.

Much to Aman’s relief, it worked.

He worked away in silence, neither saying a word. Aman didn’t have anything to say, couldn’t think of anything, just yet. His mind was shrouded in a haze of anger, and despair, and about eighty different things too strong and too deep for words. Things that made him want to bury his head in Kartik’s neck and never let go.

Kartik did have something to say. But for now he was lost in contemplation, at war with himself over whether or not he ought to tell Aman what was on his mind.

“Left waist,” Aman called out.

Kartik closed his eyes, braced himself for the familiar, frustrating feeling that followed anyone’s fingers touching the more sensitive areas (ticklish was the word to be used, not that he would ever use it as long as he still had his dignity) of his skin, and was honestly surprised when what he felt was far more dull than what he had been expecting.

He marvelled at how Aman had, yet again, known exactly what Kartik needed without his having to say a single word.

He had never met anyone like Aman. Ever. There was a time he thought he wouldn’t, either. But he had, and Kartik was once again hit with just how much Aman meant to him, just how large a part of Kartik’s heart he occupied.

And it was with this realisation that came a second, more profound one.

He was going to tell Aman everything.

* * *

  
  


“Kittu,” Kartik said suddenly, before he had the chance to change his mind. 

It came out quietly in his hesitation. He wasn’t even sure Aman had caught it

Aman frowned lightly in confusion,, not taking his attention away from the small circles he was tracing on Kartik’s lower back. It was a nasty bruise, that one, swollen to the point of being tender to the touch. Aman had to be even more cautious with this one.

“Hm?” he hummed in question

Kartik clenched his fist.

The two seconds of deafening silence that followed were spent in an internal battle. Kartik felt the cold talons of uncertainty sink themselves into his spine. Aman had unintentionally given him an opening to undo his leap of faith, to take his words back, and every fibre of his body was screaming at him to take it.. He sucked in a breath, got ready to brush it off- prepared himself to lie to his teeth and claim it was insignificant, meaningless, that he hadn’t even intended to say it out loud-

“Who’s kittu?” Aman asked.

Oh.

He had heard it.

It was out in the open. No going back now.

“That was…”

Kartik unclenched his fist.

“...what he called me.”

And just like that, in one significant moment, it was all out there. 

Kartik’s most closely guarded secret, the one he had intended to take to his damn grave- 

Suddenly wasn’t just his secret to hold, anymore.

Kartik had not a clue how to feel about that, there was a goddamn thunderstorm of mixed feelings clouding every thought. It was freeing, in some strange, unexpected way, but it was… just as terrifying, if not more.

His fingers curled into the soft material of his sweatpants involuntarily.

The circles on Kartik’s back stuttered to a pause. Aman looked up tentatively, unsure of how to proceed. 

He didn’t need to ask who the “he” being referred to was. It was evident.

It was evident in the way Kartik’s arms tensed minutely as he said it, in the way his legs which previously lay spread apart came slightly together subconsciously, as if trying to make himself smaller, in the desperate clutch of his fingers in his pants. And even without all that, the way his voice trembled as he said it was more than enough for Aman to glean who he was talking about.

He felt his stomach sink.

Aman asked anyway.

“Kaun?”

Kartik didn't hesitate this time, no. He spoke the word in a hurried manner, as if in a rush to get it out and off his tongue.

“Papa.”

Aman’s answering silence didn’t put Kartik off, he had been expecting it. If anything, he took it as an invitation to go on.

He couldn’t begin to understand why, or how, but now that he'd begun, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Every memory, every thought, everything he had buried deep into himself for over a decade was demanding to be let out now, and Kartik found himself obeying

It felt.... dangerous, wrong, even, to talk. Even if it was Aman.

And even so, Kartik found himself going against all logic, wanting- _needing_ \- to tell Aman more.

And Aman was only all too willing to listen.

Kartik knew he was

“She… my mom.. She gave the name.”

Kartik stopped and smiled, a little melancholic.

Twenty four years since he had lost her. And yet, he missed her as sharply as ever, like it was only yesterday she had left for the hospital and never come home. 

The grief had dulled with time, perhaps, but it hadn’t faded. Kartik didn’t expect it to.

“I don’t know why, really” he chuckled, dry and unwilling, “Never really got the chance to ask her. But that was all she ever called me.”

“Right side, ribs,” Aman said, quieter this time.

Kartik nodded.

“Nani used to say that,” He took another deep breath, memories of her weren’t easy on him either, “when I was 3, I thought that was my real name for a while. People would ask what my name is, and I would proudly say ‘kittu!’ Apparently took weeks to fix that.”

Aman smiled. The mental image of a three year old Kartik, confidently introducing himself by an entirely wrong name was endearing, as much as it was amusing. Even if it was just his imagination.

He had never seen pictures of Kartik as a baby, all he had were pictures from high school. He had left his photo albums behind, the day he had left home. Didn’t want to carry any trace of his father with him. Especially pictures of him. All he had carried were pictures of his mother. One picture, actually.

She was beautiful, from what Aman could see. 

Kartik had never gone back after the day he walked out.

Aman respected this, even understood. Of course he did.

And yet, from time to time, he caught himself wishing for a glimpse of Kartik as a (no doubt adorable) child.

Kartik breathed in deep.

“He always called me that too. Even after she was gone.”

Kartik felt a gentle, reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, and silently thanked all the gods and the stars and the universe itself for Aman tripathi.

“Except the way he said it- it was different, before.”

Aman felt his heart crack.

“Chest, now.”

“I don’t remember, but I- I feel like it was,” Kartik stared pointedly at his toes. The weight of what he was saying was beginning to overwhelm him, but he didn’t want to stop. He wouldn’t. Kartik had come too far to give up now, he owed it to himself to finish.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, as if pondering his words as he spoke them.

“He was nicer, back then.”

Kartik nodded slightly, as though agreeing with himself. Assuring himself that he was right.

“Not as... angry, I think.”

Aman could see Kartik was being intentionally silent, gentle in his desolation, like he always was. but Aman could feel his pain nonetheless. Like he always could.

Kartik felt his eyes well up, felt a familiar constriction in his throat and swallowed hard, attempting to will both away in vain. Kartik’s head suddenly felt heavy. He tilted it downwards, just enough for Aman to notice, but not enough to warrant concern. 

And went on.

“I wish he-”

Kartik bit his lip. His voice was shaking now, trembling like a damn leaf in the wind, the way it always did when he was seconds from breaking down, _fuck-_

“I wish he hadn’t changed.”

Aman wished, not for the first time that evening, or even that minute, that he could take Kartik’s pain away. 

Because the man who sat here, hunched over at the edge of their bed like there was a weight dragging him down- it wasn’t Kartik at all. Of course Aman had seen him through lows before, held him through breakdowns that were just as bad, been there for him like nobody else ever had. But this… this was different.

Watching him now, clutching at the soft fabric of their blanket until his knuckles turned white, Aman felt like he was looking at someone else. Like all of Kartik’s walls, even ones he didn’t even know he had, were down. Like the man who sat there shaking minutely wasn’t a man at all, but a young, hurt boy who never quite got to heal.

The boy needed Aman just as much.

“But he did change, changed a lot,” Kartik chuckled mirthlessly. 

“Continued calling me ki- that, anyway.” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, not just yet, “but it- it wasn’t the same. He always yelled, always angry, i don’t- i don’t know why. He always yelled that name.”

Kartik exhaled shakily.

Aman bit back tears.

“I- It-” he didn’t know how to explain his sheer hatred for the name, the terror surrounding it in a way that didn’t sound stupid. It was a name, that’s all. Kartik didn’t know why a mere mention of it still sent his blood running cold in his veins, why it made the hair on his neck rise. 

_What’s in a name?_ Kartik mused to himself. 

_Far too much, apparently._

“left side, lower back."

Aman didn’t need an explanation, it would seem.

“I hid it. I never talked about it, never told anyone.”

He stopped, for a second, having come to a staggering realisation.

“I think you’re the first person who knows.”

Aman’s hands stilled.

The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable, the air was too heavy, too full of memories better left forgotten for that. But it wasn’t uncomfortable, either. It was necessary, if anything. Aman could see how huge this was. Just how much it meant that Kartik had let him in on a secret buried this deep within him for this long. 

He couldn’t name all the things he was feeling if he tried, but he recognised the little sliver of gratitude and that Kartik had trusted him with this. 

When it did break, it was at Kartik’s word

“I don’t- I don’t know why I brought up the nickname, why it’s all coming back, I-”

That was a lie. Of course he knew.

Aman knew too.

He knew exactly what had brought this back. The worst he had imagined had come true- the events in Allahabad were awfully, uncomfortably reminiscent of the one from Kartik’s childhood. Aman hadn’t known of the nickname, last he heard this story. 

But the rest, he knew. He had expected it to come back.

That didn’t make his heart ache any less.

He put a reassuring hand on Kartik’s shoulder, giving him the green light to go on.

Kartik sighed. He didn’t know who he was trying to fool.

“it was kinda echoing in my head,” he shrugged.

“How long?”

Kartik blinked.

“How long what?”

“How long has it been echoing in your head?”

Kartik hesitated. 

He knew why Aman was asking. So he would know just how much he was allowed to crucify himself for letting Kartik suffer in silence. Kartik wouldn’t let it happen. It wasn’t even Aman’s fault, honestly, It was Kartik who hadn’t let Aman sleep next to him, Kartik who had passed off his pain as a symptom of his fever, Kartik who had hidden his tears in his pillow and refused to let Aman see the side of him he loathed to see himself.

It wasn’t Aman’s fault.

“A day,” Kartik lied.

“Kartik.”

Aman wasn’t buying it. 

“Doesn’t matter, yaar, jaane do-”

“Kartik, _please.”_

Kartik squared his jaw. Aman wasn't letting this go.

“Fine. You really want to know?"

Aman nodded. 

"Please."

"Okay, then, here: I haven’t slept right in 3 days, been feeling like shit all throughout, head’s absolutely killing me, everything hurts like hell, I’m fucking exhausted from all this bullshit and the fucking fever at the same time beacuse fuck me, I suppose. I’m hearing that motherfucker’s voice everywhere I go, My mind won’t stop replaying shit- it’s like a broken goddamn record. Every moment I spend awake I’m wishing that I wasn’t, but GUESS WHAT?”

He was yelling now, and Kartik wished more than anything he had it in himself to stop. But the dam gates were open and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted them closed again. He felt raw, strangely naked and vulnerable, but he felt so, so relieved.

“I CAN’T FUCKING SLEEP!” He laughed, loud and harsh like he actually meant it.

“ISN’T THAT _GREAT?”_

He hoped to all hell Aman knew Kartik wasn’t shouting at him. He would sooner die, honestly. Aman didn’t deserve to be shouted at- he’d been Kartik’s only salvation, his only saving grace amidst it all. It was his voice that drowned the others out, his cool fingers laced with Kartik’s that quietened the burning underneath his skin. 

He felt Aman’s arm leave his shoulder

And Kartik regretted everything immediately.

“Sorry, I’m- I wasn’t yelling at you, I promise- Aman-”

Kartik swallowed.

Hard.

He shouldn't have yelled, shouldn’t have ruined this for himself. Kartik’s mind raced in the short silence that followed, cycling rapidly through guilt and fear. He felt his breath catch in his throat. Fucking hell, why did he always have to ruin everything? He hadn’t meant to do that, hadn’t meant to yell-

“I know,” Aman smiled.

The hand that had left his shoulder encircled itself around his neck, meeting the other in the middle of his chest. Kartik couldn’t help but stare down at Aman’s hand in utter disbelief. He closed his eyes and laid a tentative hand on Aman’s, holding it in place.

As if he needed to. As if Aman’s arms wouldn’t have found their way back around him even if he had pushed them off. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologise.”

Kartik bit his lip.

They may have been the words he had been hoping to hear, but in Kartik’s head hope and expectation hardly ever seemed to align.

Aman felt him begin to shake.

He pressed a kiss into Kartik’s neck.

“Don’t stop.”

Kartik clenched his teeth.

He didn’t want to stop.

Not now, not after he had already come this far. There was no point to stopping, anyway. Aman already knew more than Kartik had ever dreamed of telling anyone. Stopping now would be meaningless- an act of tremendous determination and resolve Kartik couldn’t even be bothered to try working up.

He was tired.

“Thank you,” Kartik mumbled. Needlessly, as far as Aman was concerned.

But he said nothing.

Aman knew that sometimes, the best thing to say is nothing at all.

Perhaps the only thing.

Kartik was grateful. 

He took a deep breath- a slow, deliberate inhale, one that didn't seem to satisfy his lungs anyway. Kartik left it at that, for now. There were other things on his mind, things he believed to be more important and more time sensitive than his next breath.

"You know, that day, he, uh-"

_Say it, Kartik. Say it._

"When he caught me with Vansh?”

Aman felt a flare of anger pass through his spine.

He had only heard the name once before, but the anger he held for the boy who had abandoned Kartik to be beaten by his dad was deep enough in its intensity that it made him nauseated all the same. He’d kept himself up a night or two, dreaming of tracking the son of a bitch down and socking him square on the nose.

With a brick.

It was a harrowing tale to hear. Aman didn’t want to imagine what it was like to live through

To watch someone who claimed to love you leave you behind, to betray you in the most painful possible way and run when they had promised to stand by you know matter what.

_Twice,_ Aman’s mind added helpfully.

He loathed himself for what he had done. Aman knew it wasn’t the same. That scum had run to save himself, all that had been on his mind was himself. Aman had run for Kartik. To agree to the stupid fucking marriage so Kartik wouldn’t have to be hurt again. 

He knew how his father’s mind worked- Aman’s open defiance would have only made him angrier, driven him to hurt Kartik more than he already had. Running, leaving Kartik behind had been the safest bet. The only way to prevent more pain than Aman had already caused him.

There was logic present there. Of course there was. Aman did nothing unless there was an element of rationality to it.

And yet, he couldn't find it in his heart to forgive himself this transgression.

In Kartik's heart, there was nothing to forgive.

Aman would explain to Kartik someday. Make him understand why Aman did what he did, ask for forgiveness only after he was sure Kartik truly knew that he was allowed to feel hurt. That Aman's return never would negate the fact that he had left in the first place.

But now wasn't the time to do it.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Aman nodded.

“Keep replaying that in my head."

The chuckle that followed worsened the ache in Aman's heart.

"You know, he- all those years in the forge made him so strong, I swear to god. Threw me to the ground, like I was a goddamn ragdoll. So strong. And I was so scrawny," Kartik laughed. 

He didn't know why he was laughing. He knew he shouldn't. But it was all he could do, just then.

Aman let him, horrible a sound as it was to hear.

"He threw me to the ground, just grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, and- he shoved me. I didn't even know what was happening until I fell, you know? On my side, thankfully. I landed on my side. Not- not my face, or anything. My arm hurt for days."

_Like now?_ Aman asked, not out loud.

"It w-"

Kartik winced, tried to ignore the lump forming in his throat to keep talking. It didn't do well with him, having to describe the incident in excruciating detail like this.

Aman had heard the story before, but not like this. What he had heard was vague, like Kartik had been trying on purpose to keep his mind from drifting too far into that hellish evening. Aman hadn't sensed it then, hadn't thought much about Kartik's subtle avoidance.

But it was clear to him, now.

Kartik felt Aman's arms tighten around him.

"Was a whole new experience, I suppose. He always hit me, I think he's hit me more times than he's ever told me he's loved me," Kartik laughed helplessly again, "but this was new. The- he'd never kicked me before. I don't know, it- he never kicked me before, and that day, he just-"

His voice was shaking.

"It hurt."

Aman didn't bother holding his tears back.

Not anymore. 

Listening to Kartik tell this story once had been hard enough, painful enough. It wasn't so much the story itself- though that was a whole new level of gut wrenching, Aman wasn't minimizing that in the slightest- it was more so having to watch Kartik tell it. 

Having to watch him stutter, falter, clutch at whatever purchase his fingers could find to root himself in reality, watching him shake like a damn leaf in the wind when he recounted the incident. Or any incident, honestly.

But this was by far the worst he'd heard. 

"He didn't stop. I don't know when he stopped, its- I don't remember. So much of it is just blank, honestly, I think it hurt- I know it hurt- but I can't remember what it felt like," Kartik shook his head, "I just remember he kept kicking, and kicking, you know? Got me square in the cheek too, at some point. I got lucky he missed my eye."

Aman didn't respond. He had a lot to say, or maybe he really didn't. All he knew was that he wanted to say something, anything that would offer Kartik some sort of comfort.

He would get his chance to speak, but he recognised well enough that it wasn't now.

It was Kartik's turn to talk.

He had stayed silent long enough.

"I couldn't breathe."

Aman raised his head off Kartik's back.

Horror didn't begin to describe what he was feeling.

"He didn't let me breathe. Got me in the chest, once- probably should've defended myself better, I just had my arms crossed over my stomach. I don't know how he managed to reach my chest, but-"

"Not your fault," Aman mumbled, gently guiding him away from the spiral he was headed down.

Kartik didn't reply to that.

"I thought he would only stop if I passed out. Considered that, for a moment, you know? Considered faking it. But I couldn't, I don't know, too much adrenaline to stay still. Or something."

Kartik exhaled slowly.

"I scrambled to my feet? I don't know after how long- it's… yeah, it's blurry. All I remember clearly are the shoes he was wearing, for some reason. Black, the only pair of shoes he owned. Gift from someone, I think. Don't know why he was wearing them that day. Only ever wore them for special occasions- wait, maybe that's why."

He smiled at that. 

Misplaced amusement seemed to be his forte tonight.

"I tried, honestly, I tried to get away. I just _needed_ to get away before he started again, before he- I was too slow, or maybe he was too fast. I don't know, I don't- it's so blurry-"

Kartik put his face in his hands, torn between trying to recollect and pushing it all back down.

"He grabbed my wrist, this time. And let me tell you, that was the most terrifying fucking moment of my life. I didn't know what else to do. I was too scared to hit him back. So… well, I bit him. And ran."

Aman allowed himself a small smile.

"I think I drew blood. I had to bandage that up, afterwards. But it was worth it."

It still disgusted Aman to no end that Kartik had been forced to care for the hands that hurt him.

Where was the justice in that?

_In any of this, honestly._

"Still proud of myself for that."

Aman nodded.

"Me too."

The silence that fell on the room afterwards lasted but a few seconds, but was still more than long enough for Aman to feel dread creeping up his spine.

He knew what was coming after this. After Kartik's momentary victory.

And that was undeniably worse than everything he'd heard so far.

Kartik stopped here, suddenly unsure of whether to proceed. 

Because what came next would sound awfully familiar to Aman’s ears. Aman knew what came next already, but Kartik didn’t want to make him feel guilty by talking about it. Because Aman had no reason to feel guilty. 

He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about that boy, the Johnny to Kartik's metaphoric Jack. The one who left him and ran while all Kartik could do was watch helplessly.

That had been different, of course it had. Aman had come back. Aman hadn't left him forever, maybe a day at most. Aman hadn't pretended Kartik was dead, or made him wish that he was.

Kartik wasn't sure he had a right to bring it up again. He wasn't even sure Aman wanted him to go on.

He hesitated.

“Go on,” Aman prompted him, as though reading his mind.

_Oh._

“You've heard this before, Aman."

"And I'll hear it again."

It was a miracle, really, that Kartik could wake up to this man every day.

"Okay…"

Aman traced the bruise on Kartik's chest. "Talk."

Kartik sighed.

"I don’t know what hurt more-” he shrugged, “the pitai, or watching the boy who had fucking called me the love of his life leave me in the dust like I didn't matter one bit to him."

Aman felt his heart clench.

And then light up, overcome by anger.

"I watched him run away, Aman. I called his name out, I think. I don't remember. I feel like I did- I would have, right?"

Kartik was grateful for Aman's answering kiss. It reassured him, to some minor extent.

"I looked at him. I mean, I looked around for him, curled up on the ground. But he wasn't there. He ran while I was- I don't know, I didn't see him run. Heard it, I think, but didn't see him- he was gone when I looked up. Just left me to be beaten to a pulp."

He felt a tear make its way down his cheek. And he didn't bother wiping it off.

"I know I shouldn't be angry. I know I need to let this go, I mean- he couldn't have helped, he was just a child himself, and my father was so strong, _fuck_ , he hit so _hard_." Kartik winced.

"It's not fair to him, I would have run too."

Aman blinked.

And nearly laughed.

Those were the most stupid, most untrue words he had ever heard uttered.

Kartik Singh did not abandon people. 

He did not run away in the face of malice, even during times he should have. Kartik would have stayed, and he would have fought long and fought hard even if it meant being hurt himself. Kartik Singh was someone who proudly proclaimed that he would do "anything for love" with his entire damn chest and showed you exactly what he meant by that.

And Aman didn't just believe that. He had seen it happen, in front of his eyes. He's seen his angel stand tall and take blow after blow for Aman's sake, all for love.

Aman wanted to laugh. To yell at him about how ridiculous what he said just was. To shake Kartik roughly by the shoulders and repeat time and time again that he was wrong, to make him understand that what he said was as far from the truth as possible.

He did none of those.

What he did was bite back his indignation, swallow the sheer disgust that had risen to his throat, and gently unwrapped his arms from Kartik's shoulders

Kartik turned around in confusion, silently willing Aman's hands back around himself.

He felt Aman's weight shift on the bed before he saw he saw his boyfriend appear next to him, face streaked with tears that Kartik hated himself for putting there.

Aman made his way past Kartik and onto the floor, turning to stand in front of him. A foot or so away. Kartik kept his eyes fixated on the floor, he knew the look he would find in Aman's eyes if he looked up and he did not have it in him to face it just yet. It wouldn't be disapproval, or disgust, he knew as much. He was safe in the knowledge that Aman would never feel any of those things.

But there would be pain in them, Kartik was sure.

That he had caused.

He didn't want to look up.

Aman noticed as much.

He stood still for a moment. Then stepped forward, placed his hands on either side of Kartik's face, and gently tilted it upwards towards himself.

He didn't resist.

Couldn't resist.

"No," Aman said, conviction heavy in his words.

"You wouldn't have, Kartik. You know you wouldn't have run."

Kartik said nothing.

"You don't have to forgive him. Not just yet. You're allowed to be angry."

_Am I?_

"Vansh abandoned you when you needed him most. He left you behind. If you're not allowed to be angry, then nobody on this planet is."

Kartik shook his head, pushing Aman's hands away.

"No, I- listen, he was only seventeen, Aman. He was young, and he was scared, of course he ran. Of course he did. My dad was so much stronger, stronger than both of us put together, if he had intervened he would've just hurt us both. He did the right thing."

Aman opened his mouth to say something, then closed it when he realised Kartik wasn't done.

"I know it's hard to understand, I don't expect you to- but he did what he had to do, he put his safety first, like anyone would." 

He took in a shaky breath.

It was bullshit, Kartik knew.

There was no way his father could have been stronger than them both. Kartik may have been scrawny but Vansh had stood at a good three inches over him, an inch over Kartik's father too. He wasn't scrawny. He was nowhere near scrawny.

But Kartik preferred a tale of tragic circumstance over plain cowardice.

Even if it meant denying himself the truth.

"I feel so fucking weak. Honestly. I wish I could- god, I wish I could stop hating him. I wish I could put this behind me. It's been so goddamn long, I don't even know where he is. I'm tired of being angry, Aman, it's been over a fucking decade. I just want to move on." Kartik's voice broke.

"I'm so _tired."_

The last word caught on a sob that made Aman's heart ache.

Aman didn't know what to say. Maybe there was nothing that could be said, here. This was trauma beyond his comprehension, and Aman wouldn't dare say the wrong thing and make this worse.

So he did the only thing he could think to do. 

He took a step back, kneeled on the floor in front of Kartik, and squeezed the trembling hand that sat on his knee. Silent support was all Aman could offer, now.

And that was enough

"He was all I had."

That was the truth, wasn't it? Kartik didn't have many friends back then. Didn't have anyone to call his own. A boy without a mother, a shadow of a father, and family that lived in different states and rarely visited. Not that it would have done him much good if they came more often, he barely knew them. There were as good as strangers.

Kartik had nobody else but him.

And he had left too.

"That's what he fucking made me believe, that he would be there. No matter what. And then he just- he just left me there. Completely stopped talking to me, pretended I didn't exist."

His fingers found themselves in the fabric of his pants again.

"He was all I fucking had."

Kartik could feel his voice rising, again, but didn't have it in him to control it. he was tired of holding back. Of minimising his pain to make it more bearable. If he was going to scream, then by god, he would fucking scream.

"WHO FUCKING WALKS AWAY LIKE THAT?"

The tears streamed more furiously down his face, now. Aman wanted nothing more than to wipe them away, but he found himself frozen in spot. 

He didn't know why. Maybe it was because he felt like that wouldn't be enough, maybe because he felt there was something to be said here before he could wipe the tears away. Like this conversation lay incomplete.

Aman gently undid Kartik's fingers, loosened them from their vice like hold and gave Kartik something else to hold onto instead. He slipped his own fingers under Kartik's, ran his thumb softly over the knuckles until they lost their tension.

Kartik looked down, suddenly embarrassed at his outburst.

"Sorry," he wiped his face, "God, that was just pathetic, sorry-"

Aman frowned.

Not a fucking chance he would let Kartik walk around saying things like that.

He stood up abruptly, startling Kartik in the process. Aman put his hands on Kartik's shoulders, rested his knee in between Kartik's legs, and breathed in deep.

"You listen to me, Kartik Singh." 

His voice trembled, and Aman couldn’t give half a damn. 

He didn't care. He couldn't, he didn't even want to. All he cared about was saying what he wanted to say to Kartik, uncooperative voice be damned.

Kartik cast his gaze back down.

"You are not weak. You are not pathetic. You- look at me-" he put a finger under Kartik's chin, just holding it there. He didn't push his face back up this time, didn't want to force him into anything.

Kartik looked up of his own accord, much too tired to argue

"You are the strongest goddamn man I've ever known, okay? Maybe ever will know."

He caught Kartik willing away a rueful, disbelieving smile. One that only served to spur Aman on more. It didn't matter if Kartik didn't believe him right now, or even a year from now. It didn't matter if it took three tries or three thousand, he needed more than anything for Kartik to listen and accept that he had absolutely no fucking business putting himself down like he was.

"Listen to me, just- for a minute, listen to me."

Kartik did.

"You've been through literal hell and come out the other side _smiling._ That's not pathetic, Kartik. That doesn't come _close_ to pathetic. If your- hey don't look away- if that's what you call pathetic, honestly I want to know what you're ridiculous definition of strength is. You light up every damn room you walk into, Kartik. You spend every day trying to make- making, honestly- this hellhole of a world a brighter place, even after seeing so much darkness. How the hell is that weak?"

He stopped to catch his breath, to give Kartik a chance to respond, a chance that went untaken because of how overwhelmed Kartik was.

"You're a survivor," Aman continued.

"Do you understand that?"

He received a slow blink in response. Aman decided that would do for now. That was enough.

"You are not weak. You've survived this once before. And you'll survive it again. Except this time, you won't do it alone." 

Aman clenched his teeth.

"I won't allow it."

Kartik looked up.

Aman's eyes were angry, alight with a burning flame and drowning in outrage and heartache for this wonderful, brave man. 

The ocean deep eyes Kartik often lost himself in were heavy with empathy, but the tears steadily making their way down Aman's face weren't born of pain. Kartik could tell.

Kartik had never seen him like this before. This was so unlike his demeanor. Calm, loving Aman, who hated raising his voice, let alone accept violence. Burning alive with the need to hurt the monster who put a younger, more vulnerable version of his boyfriend through this much pain.

He recognised that gaze of uninhibited wrath all too well, it was the same gaze he had learned to hide from as a child.

But in Aman's eyes, it was different. 

Made him feel strangely safe.

"Don't you dare, for one goddamn second, mistake vulnerability for weakness. You need me, Kartik. Please. Don't lock yourself away. Let me be there for you like you're always there for me. Like I've been there for you before."

Kartik bit down on his lower lip.

"Please."

It was Kartik's turn, this time, to be lost for words. His heart flooded with wave after wave of gratitude, love, disbelief- a thousand little things, maybe a million little things that yearned to force themselves out of his chest, but he didn't know how

He wanted to promise Aman that he never would keep him on the other side of the wall, that he trusted Aman enough and more to let him share Kartik's burden. He couldn't put into words how thankful he was, how relieved he felt by everything Aman had said.

He wanted to say something.

Kartik was beaten to it.

"Aman," he started quietly.

"I- thank y- _mmf"_

Aman was kissing him.

Not walking away.

Not turning the other cheek.

Aman was _kissing him._

The kiss was demanding. Rough. An intense display of affection, born of a powerful love. The kind that overcame all human suffering, that healed wounds better than time itself could. The kind that was unconditional to its very core, that breathed life back into a fading smile. 

The kind that existed nowhere else but between two souls, bound by invisible strings, as delicate as silk and as unbreakable as iron.

The kind that existed within Aman, for his Kartik, and him alone.

It was exactly what Kartik needed

They danced their familiar dance, Aman giving, Kartik accepting, a routine they had perfected down to an art. Years and years of the same lips, the same hands, the same movements, but each time special all the same.

Kartik let Aman lead him, entirely boneless in his need for comfort, he let it get rougher and rougher until neither could breathe. It was passion, raw, desperate passion merged with the kind of unwavering compassion that came so easily to Aman. It was profound love unlike Kartik had ever felt at Aman's hands, at anyone's hands, and he couldn't help but crave more of… whatever this was, with all his soul.

It was a kiss, yes, at the face of it. But reducing it to one would be a blatant disservice.

This wasn't just a kiss.

It was a promise, a wordless oath of blind devotion, a commitment set in stone to see Kartik through this tunnel, no matter what it took. To stick by his side on this arduous path, to stand by him even after.

Not just tonight, or tomorrow, or even years from now, if that was what it took. Aman vowed to be there, to shoulder Kartik's burden until he was free from the shackles of his past.

A promise that Kartik would never be forced to fight a lone battle. Not again

Not as long as Aman still had breath in his lungs and a heartbeat in his chest.

Kartik sighed meekly, incapable of doing anything more. His heart was bursting with something so immense he felt it went above and beyond his understanding of love.

Aman pulled away, and smiled. Not too far, a mere inch, just enough for their foreheads to remain touching. Kartik smiled back, tried to say something, anything, but his vocabulary and abilities of coherent thought seemed to be falling him rather spectacularly. He was far too overwhelmed to put what he was saying into words, far too tired to find the right ones to say it- if they existed, in the first place.

He loved this wonderful man so much. 

So much that he couldn’t say it out loud.

He didn’t need to.

“I love you,” Aman whispered delicately. Like it was a spell, a sacred chant that couldn't be uttered out loud.

Kartik simply smiled, pulled him closer without warning, and buried his face in Aman's chest with a little more force than Aman had been expecting.

Aman exclaimed softly, amusement laced into his voice. His arms were up around Kartik almost instantly.

They stayed there, both entirely unwilling to move. Kartik closed his eyes, let the world around him melt away, let the noises within him melt away as he listened to the slow _beat, beat, beat_ of Aman's heart. It always seemed to calm him down.

The room stayed silent, save for that rhythm. Aman played with the hair at Kartik's nape, pressed his lips against Kartik's temple and grimaced minutely when he felt the heat there.

He probably ought to give Kartik his medication.

Maybe rinse his own mouth out, while he was at it.

_Oh… Ew._

Aman pushed away, intending to make his way off Kartik's lap. Kartik held him back.

"Wait," he said, slightly hesitant.

“Can you stay tonight?”

Aman stared at him like he had grown another head.

Kartik shrugged uneasily.

“Unless you don’t want to, that’s fine too, I'm not-”

He seemed to be on a personal mission to say the dumbest things possible tonight, Aman decided. He let his arms fall on Kartik's shoulders, took another moment to relish the feeling of Kartik's arms around his waist, and chuckled.

“Why would you even consider that I wouldn’t stay, Kartik?"

Kartik blushed. 

"I’m just going to get you water so you can take your medicines, that’s all."

Aman brushed Kartik's damp hair away from his forehead, letting his fingers linger for a second.

"I’m not going anywhere.”

Kartik caught the hidden, deeper meaning behind that sentence, but didn't point it out. He didn't need to, either, Aman had fully intended to convey exactly what Kartik had gleaned from the otherwise unassuming statement.

Aman wasn't going to leave. 

Not now, not ever.

No matter what they would have to face, they would do it together, Kartik knew that without a hint of doubt now.

He let go of Aman's waist, feeling the loss already.

Aman returned less than a minute later, handing Kartik a glass of water he downed nearly all the way through before he realised he probably ought to have taken his medicines with them.

_Whoops._

Aman laughed.

"I'll get you another."

Kartik remembered to take them this time.

And downed the second glass too.

Aman watched him silently, simply staring at Kartik with a lack of expression that didn't really faze the latter. Kartik was tired too. He understood.

He noted out of the corner of his eye that Aman’s expression was unreadable, a stew of colliding feelings that had morphed into thoughtful emptiness. There was pain there, Kartik could tell. But he could also tell that Aman wasn’t hurting because of him. For him, perhaps, but not because of him.

Kartik set the glass aside, and settled into bed, tapping the spot next to him for his boyfriend to join him. Aman smiled, settled into bed next to Kartik and sighed when he felt Kartik envelope him. One arm splayed across his body, Kartik's head on his chest, one leg hooked against one of Aman's. 

Kartik let his eyes drift shut, comforted immensely by Aman's fingers scratching lightly at his scalp.

The nightmares didn't return that night.

* * *

When Kartik awoke the next morning, it was to the kiss of morning air against his cheek.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, gently adjusting to the soft sunlight streaming through their window. The blanket draped over him tickled the back of his neck as he shifted his head, burying his tiny smile deeper into the cold pillow. 

Kartik's eyes slid shut, finding no real reason to stay open any longer.

He breathed in deep.

Bliss, was what this was. 

He stayed there for a second or two, simply enjoying this moment of peace he had been granted in an otherwise loud, nearly insufferable world. Kartik loved mornings like these, loved simply laying in bed and enjoying the warmth of his blanket against the morning chill. This, right here, was one of the finer parts of life. The only way this could possibly get better was to be wrapped in Aman’s arms-

Oh.

Aman.

Kartik reached blindly beside himself, turned his head in confusion when he didn't feel Aman's arm- or chest, or face, or something- and frowned.

_…oh._

It all came flooding back to him.

Kartik had really done that. 

Really let Aman in on a secret he didn’t even want to hold himself.

He wasn’t sure what that meant. He knew it was huge, but that was as far as his mind had let him process everything that had transpired in that very room, on that very bed last night.

Kartik blinked twice, tried to make sense of what he was feeling. When that didn’t work, he tried to decide what he should be feeling. On one hand, Kartik was relieved. It wasn’t only his burden to bear anymore, he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

But on the other hand, he felt scared. Vulnerable. The information he had divulged last night was Aman’s, now. His to do with it what he pleased. Kartik wasn’t sure what he expected out of that. He didn’t even know what he wanted Aman to do with the secret.

He preferred that it stay insignificant, just another meaningless fact about Kartik that Aman happened to know, but as much as he liked the idea, it still somewhat scared him a little.

He wondered if it would be better if Aman refused to acknowledge it, simply pretended it didn’t exist, like Kartik had been doing all these years. But the idea didn’t sit right with him. He had given Aman a piece of his soul. He didn’t do that so it would simply be locked away yet again.

This was so hard. 

It was about 2 minutes into his third round of introspection when Kartik realised that he was hungry, and sitting here and stewing was probably not the most productive thing he could be doing.

He swung his legs over the side and pushed himself up, noting with joy that he did so with considerable ease. The action didn’t make his back scream, didn't make his head feel like it was being stampeded by an entire army of wildebeests.

Aman’s magic fingers really had worked.

Aman's magic had worked, period.

Kartik ambled his way over to the kitchen, following the sound of sweet, slightly off-key humming, and the inviting smell of Aman's breakfast.

He sniffed the air once or twice, grinning widely when he realised just what was being prepared.

Aloo parathas.

His favourite.

It was something Kartik had grown up eating much too often, so nothing special, really. So It wasn't so much the taste of the dish itself that earned it a place in his heart (though Aman really outdid himself in the kitchen with it. Kartik didn't know how, as much as he loved his boyfriend, he had to admit Aman was terrible at making almost everything else). 

It was more… the fact that Aman had painstakingly put in the effort to learn how to make it, to surprise Kartik with breakfast on Kartik's first birthday they celebrated as a couple. It had taken over a month, having to sneak around behind Kartik's back to gain access to their kitchen without tipping him off about what was going on.

And clearing the smoke out when he inevitably failed twice.

And having to discreetly dispose of the ones that tasted like Aman was actively trying to turn Kartik off from food forever.

But he'd gotten it, eventually. And Kartik didn't mind having to eat far too many parathas for breakfast yet again, Aman's proud smile each time he made them was absolutely worth it.

Kartik peered into their kitchen and smiled, heart swelling at the sight he was met with.

A sight he should've become used to by now, perhaps, but some things are better off staying special forever.

Aman swayed softly to the time playing through his earphones, flipping the paratha on his pan over rather enthusiastically, probably in time to the beat in his ears, Kartik assumed. Aman hummed, completely lost to reality, and didn't notice or hear Kartik approaching him until he felt arms wrap around his waist.

Aman smiled, tilting his head towards Kartik's as it rested on his shoulder. Kartik turned his head, breathed Aman in, and buried his face in Aman's neck.

“Good morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” Aman replied cheerfully.

Kartik kissed his neck.

"Have I ever told you how much I love the fact that you only ever make parathas?"

Aman blinked.

"No, not really, but I'm glad you like-"

"Then why won't you learn anything else?"

Kartik smirked when he felt Aman tense up. He knew he was in trouble now.

"...WOW-" 

Aman turned around in Kartik’s arms, mock annoyance etched into his face. Kartik laughed, pressing a tender kiss into his forehead. He half expected Aman to push him away, to fake heartbreak, perhaps dramatically storm off into the living room after carefully making sure Kartik's breakfast was on a plate, but he did none of that.

Simply sighed, relaxed his expression into something akin to hopelessly lovesick, and wrapped his arms around Kartik's neck.

"You're so mean."

"You love me anyway."

"Debatable," Aman chuckled.

Of course it wasn't, not in the least. If there was anything at all that Aman considered past reproach, it was his love for Kartik. 

But he had to say what he said.

It was a matter of pride.

Aman tilted his head, enjoying the playful glint in Kartik's eye.

Kartik looked so much better now.

The skin where Aman's fingers met his neck wasn't hot, Aman might even go so far as to say it was pleasantly cool in the early morning weather. His eyes were no longer bloodshot, the small smile on his face seemed as genuine and sincere as ever, and his face had lost its sickly pallor. He wasn't holding himself awkwardly, either, like his bruises weren't bothering him a lot less than Aman was expecting.

And most significant of all, Kartik's head was held high, no longer weighed down by burdens it had carried alone for years.

Plus, his terrible sense of humour was back.

For better or for worse.

Aman brought his hand up to Kartik's cheek, enjoying the way Kartik subconsciously, unintentionally leaned into it. Kartik sighed with a small smile, brought his own hand up to keep Aman's where he wanted it.

He loved this man so much it _hurt._

Kartik was looking much better, now, sure. But Aman asked anyway.

“Feeling better, Kittu?”

The glint in Kartik's eye was gone as soon as he said it, and Aman saw it leave, dread flooding his every cell.

Kartik blinked slowly, caught rather off guard by the sudden, unexpected usage of that nickname. His face went oddly expressionless.

Aman winced.

_Fuck._

He'd ruined the moment. Aman had ruined the damn moment, possibly triggered another onslaught of memories Kartik would rather not recount right now. Or ever.

Kartik stilled, taking a second to decide how he felt about Aman using that nickname. 

His first instinct was to shun it, to refuse to even acknowledge that name as his, after spending so many years trying to forget it. He considered pretending Aman hadn't even said it out loud, to just push past that word and settle into their comfortable silence again.

But on the other hand, he didn’t really… dislike it. 

Kartik rather liked the way his name sounded coming out of Aman's mouth. It was sweet, unrushed, like he enjoyed the way it felt on his tongue. So different, so incredibly different from all those ways he had heard it spoken before. 

Not spat at him in contempt, God no. If anything, it was uttered in love.

Kartik, much to his own surprise, decided he didn’t mind being called that. 

In fact, he quite liked it.

Aman watched the cogs turning away in Kartik's head with silent guilt, having no real way to tell what was going on in there. He shouldn’t have called Kartik that. Shouldn’t have blindsided him, without warning.

He'd fucked up, hadn't he?

“Sorry,” Aman grimaced.

“Too soon?”

The smile that graced Kartik’s face allowed air back into Aman’s lungs, and the kiss that followed knocked it right back out.

“Not soon enough.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this was worth the wait ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


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